Settling the Score
by ISpeakBraile
Summary: I'm stubborn – I'll freely admit it. But unless Wood gets on his bloody knees and grovels for me to rejoin the team, I absolutely refuse to do so. I'm talking giant, Nile River-style tears flowing down those obnoxiously sharp cheekbones of his, or no more Seeker. OW/OC
1. Hell Hath No Pity

**A/N: **Hey, there! Welcome to STS. This story has a looot of drama associated with it, but nonetheless, I've decided to put it back up in its entirety because so many people have requested it and it's really the least I can do for such ridiculously awesome fans. You guys are the best. I can't even deal with you. I wish I could respond personally to every single review but I'm frantically writing an OF series and balancing about 1,000 things at a time so I don't have anywhere near the time :( THAT SAID, some things to know about the story before you dive in:

1. It's slightly AU in that the Golden Trio is absent (it's very much a romantic dramedy, so when it comes to Voldemort, ain't nobody got time for dat) and the time scheme's a little off. Oliver Wood is a 7th year, and Fred, George, Alicia, Katie, and Angelina are 6th years in this story.

2. Although the story goes up to chapter 23 and has a two part 'epilogue', it's not 'complete' in the truest sense of the word... what that means is some weird shenanigans went down the first time I posted this story on a different site, and accounts disappeared, and I took that as my sign to progress into the wild world of original fiction that everyone had been pressuring me into for a while. FF was lovely, but it was an admitted crutch, and having my entire account deleted out of the blue was just the kind of shock I needed to transition away from it. However, because this story somehow got the world's coolest and most dedicated fanbase ever (IMO - you guys are rad), I couldn't fully move on until I gave them closure, so I wrapped everything up in an epilogue of sorts. It's 37 pages, most of which are full of snippets I never got a chance to post, my narration of what happened in between scenes, a long conflict resolution scene, and a 'three months later' epilogue that shows in detail how everything worked out. It's as comprehensive as I could manage, and I've heard so far that people are pretty happy with it and finally feel like they have the closure they wanted. So it's a unique kind of complete.

Anyway, I think that's it. Hope you guys enjoy the story, and feel free to contact me if you have any questions! Feedback still means the world to me, and trucking through writing a real book where I have to finish it without getting any sort of reviews gets rough, so if you feel like leaving a review, I'd love to read it! I seriously live for favorite quotes: they give me a sense of what parts of my humor work the best in fiction and what parts are best left for my weird head, and I also never know if I've built tension/drama/an argument well, so reviews on that help me a lot. That said, I'll most likely be mainlining coffee in sweatpants and an old man robe and fluffy socks as I type away at my fantasy book, so if the conclusion leaves you with any confusion, drop me a line. Thanks for reading!

**Settling the Score**

Heaven Hath No Pity for Fascist Quidditch Captains

Never in my life have I felt so much hatred concentrated on one thing, or rather, one person. I was ready for blood, hungry for the kill, eager to destroy – and not at all prone to exaggerating. My eyes were reduced to furious slits of lemony green, my loosely tied hair a nuclear explosion of curls that made Hiroshima look like a joke, and my breathing a ragged, uneven set of wintry puffs collecting then dissipating in the icy October air.

Two hours.

Two bloody hours of these stupid bleacher sprints, all for showing up a little late to practice. Granted, I have been doing it a lot lately, but I've got a lot going with all my extra-curricular activities piling up around me. It's about that time of year where every club gets prematurely thrilled about how spiffing the year is going to be, and they plan a bunch of dances and bake sales in the flurry of excitement.

Yeah, not so convenient when the captain of your Quidditch team is a Neo-Nazi.

I clenched my jaw as I pushed myself up yet another set of steep, merciless bleachers, my calves burning and my heart pounding for oxygen. Bloody Wood. Honestly, it's not like anything fantastically important happens during the first ten minutes of practice anyway – just the usual tidbits about other teams and what matches are coming up. And yet, despite my perfectly legitimate excuse, I land myself a nice, long set of bleacher sprints: suicides, they were called. How fucking fitting.

"Oi, Wiles!"

My eyes narrowed against the harsh wind as the deep voice filtered into my ears, the Scottish drawl heavy and unmistakable. No way in hell was I answering him, not after this punishment. I gritted my teeth together and kept going, increasing my speed as I barreled up the killer incline. I could handle it, seven years of training had to be good for something. My dark hair began whipping about my face rather violently as the wind picked up, and I heard the low growl of thunder rumble through the air.

"Wiles, get you're undependable arse down here right now!"

I would've scoffed if I had any semblance of breath left within my lungs. _Undependable -_ what a prick. He was the one that hounded me in the first place to join more bloody clubs so that the professors wouldn't give me the 'you're too focused on sport' speech. 'Lot of ruddy good _that_ did.

"Wiles, don't make me come up there!"

"It'd be nice to see you actually _do _something for a change!" I called back over my shoulder, my voice raspy from the cold air and lack of oxygen reaching my lungs.

I heard him scoff in aggravation, the sound followed by the thud of angry footsteps trailing my own. I braced myself for the stubborn row that was coming, idiotically determined to fight the natural limitations of my body for my pride: I wouldn't stop running until I was bloody finished.

"Wiles, damnit," he snapped as he trudged up to where I was sprinting, having to increase his pace in order grab hold of my arm. "I can't let you practice while there's lightning, school rule."

I tried to dislodge myself from his grip but his hold was too strong, making me growl in frustration as I turned to face him. He glared back at me with his bright brown eyes, dark hair billowing in the rapidly gaining wind. "I'm not done yet," I declared, tilting my chin up a little to try to not appear quite so exhausted. My chest was heaving and my hair was matted with sweat, sticking it to my head in a vision of beauty.

He shrugged. "I don't care."

"Well, I do." I was going to finish this, damn it. He wanted to punish me unfairly? I'd show him up by doing extra.

"Look, I personally don't have a problem with you getting struck by lightning," he replied, making my bloodshot eyes narrow, "but if I don't make sure everyone's off the pitch, I get ousted as captain."

"Really?"

His scowled at my enthusiasm. "Yes, really, so get off or I'll make you get off."

I tilted my head to the side, a smug quality entering my voice now that I had the upper hand in this. "I'm sorry, Wood. I believe it was _your _order to complete two hundred bleacher suicides, and I've only done one hundred and seventy two. Maybe next time you should reconsider being such an asshole?"

His stared me down evenly. "I will move you, Wiles."

I snorted. "Really? What are you going to do, toss me over your shoul—_ARGH_!"

A strangled yelp escaped my lips as his arms suddenly encircled my waist, pulling me up and over his shoulder like an old sack of potatoes. "Pretty much," he replied in a nonchalant manner as I began writhing around, banging my fists against his back.

"Wood!" I cried as I tried to twist out of his firm grasp, feeling horribly demeaned and undermined – this was no way to treat your own Seeker, for Christ's sake! "Put me down, you bloody wanker, this is harassment! As in _harassment_! As in illegal!"

"Warned you plenty of times, love – figures you'd be too thick to actually listen," he replied as he trudged down the wooden rows, lightning flickering in the distance.

"Wood, put. Me. _Down_." The severe tone did nothing. Okay, take two: frantic. "_Put me down!_" Nothing. Ultimatum? "Put me down or I quit," I threatened heatedly, though I knew he'd see right through the weak claim. I may or may not use it kind of often.

Predictably enough, he chuckled. "Sure."

"I'm serious!" Except not really.

"Fine - plenty of fresh talent willing to replace you."

My eyes flashed at the response – _oi_. I was _good_. Feeling considerably underappreciated – I was really bloody good, damnit! – I snapped, "Fine, then I quit!"

He snorted dismissively. "No you don't."

"Yes, I _do_!" I countered to the back of his shoulders as he finally reached the drying grass of the pitch, knowing I'd be force-feeding myself my words by tomorrow. I always did this: got all huffy, threw my metaphorical resignation in his face, then showed up the next morning for practice with a scowl. It was a stupid process that accomplished nothing, but dealing with Wood just drove me so far up the bloody wall that in the moment, I never cared.

"Fine," he said simply, "quit away. D'ya mind grabbing me a cup of coffee on your way to practice tomorrow morning, though?" My face crumpled into a glower. _Hell _if I was showing up for practice tomorrow. If it came down to it, I'd make that self-centered git beg.

Grovel at my feet.

And then I'd put it on YouTube.

Face hard with newfound determination, I glared at the broad muscles on his back in silence for the remainder of the way, thankful that the locker rooms were so close. I was getting rather fed up with being manhandled upside down like a shoddy piece of equipment, thank you very much, since I just so happened to be a human being.

Upon stopping, he let his arms go slack without so much as a warning, sending me tumbling backward in a graceless attempt to maintain my balance. "_Seriously?_" I snapped, glancing up angrily at him, and he merely stood there all tall and cross-armed and nauseatingly patronizing.

"Practice is at six A.M. tomorrow. That doesn't mean 6:05, 6:15, or even 6:0 bloody 2. That means _six_."

My lip curled in annoyance. "Perhaps I'd care if I were still on the team."

He rolled his eyes, bored and unamused. "Shove off with the quitting rubbish, Wiles, I don't have time for it this week."

I arched a brow, getting more and more committed to the idea of actually going through with it with every word he said. "So sure it's rubbish, are you?"

"Well, you said the same thing last week and yet here you are, so," he let his eyes flit over my sweaty, disheveled appearance, summing me up in a glance, "I'd say I'm sure."

I set my jaw, eyes taking on a cool, hard expression that matched my intensifying resolve. "Guess we'll see, then." I swiveled about in the direction of the lockers, fighting back the urge to add something more. Getting into with Wood was always an annoyingly lopsided process because I'd say everything on my mind whereas he'd say about 2% of what's on his, so once in a while, I tried to give him a taste of his own curt medicine.

"Six in the morning!" he called out, making me roll my eyes and throw a sarcastic thumbs up over my shoulder. Hell if I was showing up. I'll be the girl snuggled in my warm, fluffy bed, thanks.

I shivered as I entered the cold, drafty locker room, peeling off the sweaty layers of my Quidditch kit a bit reluctantly. Flinging off my muddy sports bra - Jesus, how did that much even get in there? - I stepped into the slippery shower, turning on the showerhead and adjusting the knob to a satisfyingly scalding temperature. A low hiss of breath escaped my lips as the burning water scorched my skin, dissipating the layers of grime and mud clinging onto it. I poured a fistful of shampoo onto my palm and attacked the dark, tangled mess of curls on my head with it.

This was one of my favorite parts of Quidditch. The hot water, the raw skin, the dull ache humming in my muscles. Here in my state of absolute exhaustion I could think about things, reason out my irrational impulses in a state of tired calmness. McGonagall had blown up at me earlier that day for some reason or other – I vaguely recall accidentally lighting something on fire? It wasn't entirely my fault, though: the Weasley twins were somehow involved.

I rolled my eyes at the mere thought of those two, an inevitable grin creeping up the corners of my lips. Never a dull moment with the twins around. We'd been friends since Quidditch tryouts (they'd charmed my broom to shoot out sparkles), though over the years, I'd certainly grown to know George better than Fred. There was just something about George that was easier for me to get along with. He was a lot less attention-hungry than his brother, more... balanced. Both of them were constantly thrust into the spotlight due to their wicked humor and agreeable presence, but George seemed perfectly at ease with sharing the glory with others.

He was a surprisingly good listener, and despite the absurd number of detentions he racked up daily, he was rather good at giving advice. While Fred was good for bloody phenomenal entertainment, I couldn't really find anything else besides our constant joking to bring us past casual friends. Still, as close as I am with George, I'd probably jump off the Astronomy Tower if he was the only person I could ever confide in. The Weasleys along with Lee Jordan are a riot, but those blokes would make any girl go insane after a while – they were just so testosterone-happy. For feminine matters of the heart and everything else under the sun, I had a whole PMS-filled circle of nutso females that I wouldn't trade for the entire bloody world.

Katie Bell – the empathetic bookworm/closet disco diva. When I first met her back on the Hogwarts Express, I immediately coined her for the shy, quiet type, and I wasn't that far off at first. While I talked and bonded with the other girls in our dorm pretty quickly, she remained timidly sweet and likable – oh, what a bloody shock it was when she finally let loose. The girl is genuinely insane around people she's comfortable with, and I don't think I've ever met anyone I just genuinely like _everything _about outside of Kats. Seriously. She's the sweetest, loveliest whack job you'll ever meet, and I don't think it's possible for anyone not to like her.

Angelina Johnson – future Prime Minister of Great Britain. Jesus, that girl is authoritative, but in that responsible, leader-like way that means she's just looking out for you. She's the mother hen of our dorm mates, the sharp-minded, logical one who knows what rules are worth breaking and what risks aren't worth taking. However, you slip her a firewhiskey or two and the transformation is almost too hysterical for words – the Prefect can't handle her alcohol well. Just ask Fred: he's been in love with her ever since she decided to run laps around the pitch in a tutu in the middle of a blizzard after getting drunk at a fourth year victory party.

Last but not least, Alicia Spinnet – most beautiful psycho you will ever meet in your life. The bint is stunning. Seriously, she's like celebrity levels of gorgeous, but she's also the weirdest person I know. And bluntest. And rudest. And most obnoxious. And most unintentionally hilarious. You either love her or you hate her: if she's against you, you hate her, if she's on your side, you will never laugh harder or live brighter or be more fiercely defended. We actually couldn't stand each other at first, and it was through Angelina that we finally decided to set aside our prejudices and get to know each other. Thank God, because ever since then, we've been inseparable, and I really can't imagine life without Alicia around to make it mental.

"Wiles, you still in there?"

I closed my eyes and groaned, wishing that I could stay under the steady stream of scalding water forever instead of facing the frigid air awaiting me. "Yeah, so leave."

"I can't leave until you do, so hurry the bloody hell up - it's not like you've got anyone to look good for," Wood snapped, making me snap my eyes open into a glare. He had a point.

With a wistful sigh, I reached back and shut off the showerhead, grabbing a ratty towel from a nearby hook and wrapping it around my dripping frame. My skin instantly erupted in goosebumps as the cold air of the locker room brushed over it, hastening my pace as I threw on some clothes.

"About time," Wood drawled as I waltzed out of the doorway, wringing my dark waves and shooting him a dismissive look. He was leaning against the wooden goalpost, arms crossed and brows arched. His face was thrust in shadow from the dimming sky, darkness pooling in the hollows created by his sharp cheekbones, and my lips twitched in annoyance at the inadvertent elegance of it all.

Wood was fitter than he deserved to be and it pissed me off.

"Okay, I'm here, hooray," I said sarcastically, waving him off with my hand, "you can leave now."

He shook his head. "Have to make sure you're safe and sound in the castle."

I sighed, rolling my eyes yet again as I began to trudge away through the mud, ignoring the light drizzle that'd started up. "Why do I get the feeling you're making these 'rules' up?"

"Obviously I just want to spend loads of extra time with you." Touché.

We bickered somewhat pointlessly as we made our way over to the double doors of the Great Hall, the warmth of the room emanating from the cracks and the windows. I scoffed at something particularly arrogant he said as I pushed the door open, and a welcome rush of heat smacked against my shivering body.

"Look at that, safe and sound in the castle – guess that means goodbye," I stated with about as much enthusiasm as a dementor would, ignoring his dismissive eye roll as I ran my eyes over the various tables lining the Great Hall. Only a few scattered people were sitting, indicating that there was still some time to dry up by the common room fire before dinner.

I hurried my way up to the Gryffindor tower, my calves protesting loudly with every set of stairs I had to ascend, and by the time I'd arrived at the portrait hole, lactic acid was seeping from my each and ever muscle, a delayed reaction to all the rigorous training I'd undergone today. "Veritaserum," I muttered to the Fat Lady, ignoring her attempt at striking up gossip as I slowly clambered through. The fire was roaring high and mightily in the common room, outlining the scattered students lounging about in a bright silhouette, and despite my urge to collapse by the fire and take a nap right there, I forced myself up the stairs to the sixth year dorms.

Shoving the door open without so much as a 'hey, guys!' and slamming it closed behind me, I staggered to my fourposter and collapsed. No one said anything, accustomed to my post-practice dramatics, and after a moment, I lifted my head and glanced about the rather messy room. Katie was bundled up in the thick, Snoopy blanket that she brought with her every year, munching on a chocolate frog and ravishing some classic novel. Her light brown hair, inevitably straight and shiny, hung loose around her shoulders, released from its usual plaited style.

Alicia was strewn languidly across her bed, curls shoved up into a pretty bun, absently perusing some muggle magazine. She had her thick-rimmed reading glasses on, and her head was bopping around to whatever obscure death metal rock was probably playing in her head. Angelina was most likely the one in the bathroom, showering herself to her usual, orderly perfection. The girl was a complete organization-freak – her neat bed stood out like a sore thumb in the sea of chaos that surrounded it.

Katie glanced up from her book, dark eyes sympathetic. "You look beat."

At this, Alicia glanced up as well, her face contorting into a grimace at my appearance. "More like _homeless_. Bathe much?"

"I took a shower."

"In what, a toilet?"

I ignored the comment, letting my head collapse back down into my soft bed and reveling in the warmth and comfort of my pillow. "God, I don't think I've ever been this tired in my entire life."

Katie set her book down, eyeing me quizzically. "Exactly how many suicides did he make you do?"

"Bloody two hundred and something…"

"What?"

"What a dick!"

"Just because you were a bit late?"

I nodded stiffly into my pillow, too exhausted to really let myself get worked up all over again. I'd already pitched quite a fit when he'd commanded me to do them in the first place, and now I was just glad to be done with them.

"Whatever, just show him up in practice again – he gets so entertainingly angry whenever you mess with the Quaffle and score against him," Alicia suggested as she turned a glossy page, squinting at a pair of shoes.

"Oh, right – I sort of quit the team," I muttered, unsurprised by the lack of reaction the two girls met this news with.

"Again?" Katie asked flatly.

"Yes, _again _– but I mean it this time," I said a bit defensively, annoyed by their dismissive attitudes.

"Funny, that's what I recall you saying the last time you quit," Alicia said as she flipped to the horoscope section, making Katie snort wryly.

"And the time before that."

"And the time before that…"

"Okay, fine – so maybe I say that a lot, but this time I'm not coming back unless he personally comes and grovels at my feet," I declared into my pillow, my stubborn gaze narrowing at Alicia's snort.

"And you really think he's going to do that?"

I lifted my head somewhat proudly. "If I stick it out for long enough – yes."

"Then you're a bloody idiot," she responded, reaching for her self-inking quill to take some stupid astrology quiz – she was oddly superstitious like that.

"Who's a bloody idiot?"

I glanced over to the bathroom, my eyes landing on a very clean and pretty-looking Angelina. Her long hair was gathered into a series of tiny braids, and her uniform was neatly pressed and well-fitting on her tall, athletic physique. "I am, apparently."

She flashed a derisive smile. "Tell me something I don't know."

"Jupiter and Venus align tomorrow night at eight," Alicia responded, quill in hand as she scribbled down her responses.

Angelina rolled her eyes. "Rephrase – tell me something I _care _to know."

Katie snorted as she flipped the page of her leather-bound volume. "Here we go."

"Planet alignment is no joke, Angie – I can predict your entire future with this thing," Alicia responded, waving her magazine about rather indignantly.

"Oh, yeah? Can you predict this?" Angelina countered as she flung a large scrunchie directly into Alicia's face, making the blonde squawk in protest.

I rolled my eyes to the back of my skull as the two began to squabble aimlessly, craving the peace and tranquility that I had walked into. "Oi, four year olds – kindly stuff it."

"Oi, hag," Alicia jabbed as she hurled her quill at my head, "kindly stop being boring."

Angelina snorted in agreement as Katie checked her wristwatch, eyeing the hands for a moment. "It's about quarter to seven, should we start heading down?"

Alicia sent a wry grin in Katie's direction. "You're such a porker, honestly – if you didn't play Quidditch you'd weigh three tons."

"Good thing I play Quidditch then, isn't it?" Katie responded as she popped the last bit of the chocolate frog she'd been munching on into her grinning mouth.

Alicia and Katie arose from their sloth-like positions, stretching slightly and doing some last minute touch ups – Katie twisting her hair into her everyday plait, Alicia removing her glasses and letting her bouncy hair flow free.

"You coming, Andy?"

I groaned miserably at the prospect of getting up, weighing the importance of hunger versus sleep. My muscles were practically numb with exhaustion, though the slightest movement would send them screaming with pain. "Can I just meet up with you lot later?"

Angelina, ever the leader, simply shrugged in response, the others following suit as they ambled out the door and mentioned something about saving a seat. I buried my head deep within my pillow and sighed into the silence, feeling the shackles of sleep pulling down on my eyelids. My final thought before drifting off to sleep was that there was no way in hell I was getting up at six in the morning for Quidditch practice – Wood really did himself in this time.

He would have to beg.

A tear or sixty-five wouldn't hurt, either.

**A/N**: Hullo, readers! New story – I got inspired by the lack of Oliver Wood/OC stories to write one of my own, so here it is! It's a bit of a slow intro, but there were a lot of characters to establish and I really wanted to make them my own. Review with anything – likes, dislikes, the weather! I like to hear from you guys!


	2. The Devil Makes Use of Idle Hands

**Settling the Score**

The Devil Makes Use of Idle Hands

"Should we even try to wake her up?"

"Dunno, she looks kind of beastly…"

"Oi, troll!"

I jolted awake as a spurt of ice cold water exploded in my face, completely shattering the lulling warmth of my sleep. "Bloody—_you_!"

My livid, puffy eyes zeroed in on Alicia's grinning face and outstretched wand, narrowing with fury. She simply winked at me, pretty blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Rise and shine, we've got practice," Angelina announced as she gathered her tiny braids into a ponytail, already clad in her practice clothes.

"You've got practice," I muttered, ignoring the dismissive look Alicia sent me, "I quit, remember?"

"It's rather hard to keep track, nowadays," Alicia responded sardonically, pulling a thin jacket over her racer back tank top.

"You're going to freeze, Ally," Katie observed as she donned a thick, furry sweater, pulling her hair back into a tight ponytail.

"I'll take my chances, Sasquatch," Alicia responded with a distasteful glance at Katie's admittedly hideous attire.

The brunette shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Angelina secured an elastic around her hair, giving herself a once over in the mirror and catching my still-sleeping reflection in the process. "Merlin, Andy, get up already!"

I grabbed my thick comforter and flung it over my head, trying to block out their annoying nagging. "Leave me alone."

Within moments, Angelina had wrenched the covers away, glaring down at me with a dark brow raised. "Are you going to get up by yourself or am I going to have to _help _you?"

My face crumpled into a scowl. "Touch me and you die."

"Have fun at my funeral," she responded as she grabbed my wrist and hurled me off the bed, sending me tumbling down onto the floor in a mess of sheets and limbs.

"Bloody hell, Johnson!"

"Oh, I'll show you bloody hell if you're not ready within the next five minutes," she countered, eyeing me in that intimidating, authoritative way that only she could really pull off.

"No," I grumbled stubbornly, rubbing a sore spot on my arm and crawling right back onto my bed. "I'm proving a point here – if Wood wants me back on the team, he has to learn to treat me fairly."

Katie stared at me with some semblance of understanding while Alicia scoffed, not buying into my justification.

"That's bollocks and you know it," she said as she shoved her hair up into its usual, perfectly messy bun.

"Honestly, let it go, Andy – Wood's just as stubborn as you are, he's not going to _beg_," Angelina added.

I looked to Katie for some sort of support – she was usually the most compassionate of the three – and sure enough I saw flickers of approval in her dark blue eyes. "I dunno, guys, I think she should try this. Oliver's been extra hard on her lately – two hundred bleacher suicides?"

Angelina's skeptical gaze took on a slow spark of consideration. "Well, yesterday was a bit uncalled for…"

"A _bit_?" I spat out, lifting my head up to glare through my tangled waves.

Angelina continued to stare for a contemplative moment before shrugging, pulling a thick, form-fitting jumper over her kit. "Try it for today, see how it goes."

I grumbled something unintelligible in response as the three finished up their bustling, getting ready to leave after a moment or so. "So, I'll watch for his reaction, yeah?"

I waved a hand dismissively at Angelina's comment, muttering something along the lines of 'sure' as she filed out of the room. Alicia, still in obvious disapproval of the whole ordeal, simply sighed in defeat, rolling her eyes and trudging out of the room after Angelina. Katie gave me a sympathetic smile, shrugging in understanding before exiting the room. I blew a dark, tangled wave out of my face, tossing over to the other side of my bed and yanking up my covers.

_Bloody Quidditch… bloody friends… bloody Wood…_

* * *

My lips lifted into a small, peaceful smile as I wandered into the Great Hall, fully aware that it was somewhere around noon. The scrumptious scent of Saturday morning brunch filtered its way to my nose, making my stomach rumble accordingly.

"Morning, Lee," I greeted with languid ease as I slipped into the seat across from the messy-haired bloke, making him quirk a dark brow.

"Andy," he replied, eyes flitting over me questioningly. "Why aren't you at practice?"

I tilted my head to the side, overdoing my supposed confusion just a bit. "What practice?"

His eyebrows furrowed. "Quidditch, of course."

"Oh," I said with a casual laugh that probably sounded demonic, "I quit yesterday."

His concern immediately lightened into obvious humor. "Again?"

"Bloody hell, yes 'again'!" I snapped, annoyed with how trivial everyone made it sound. It was a big deal, I was _serious_!

"Sorry – blimey, deep breaths, Wiles," he advised, raising his hands up in surrender to my minor outburst.

I exhaled crossly, my eyes narrowing as I slumped down into my seat and folded my arms across my chest. Lee snorted in sardonic laughter as he piled some more eggs onto his plate, overdoing it in his usual habit of eating with his eyes.

"Aren't you hungry?"

I shrugged, still slightly miffed and unwilling to admit I was starving – for some reason it felt like giving in… which is kind of odd.

"Suit yourself," he muttered, shoving a spoonful of eggs into his mouth and chewing like only a teenage boy could. His words reminded me of Katie's from earlier, which reminded me of something else about Katie.

Like her tiny little not-so-minor crush on the Neanderthal before me. A somewhat devious idea began floating about my head as the wheels started churning. I might as well make do with my time, right?

"So… Jordan…"

He glanced up from his food, mouth still chewing rather obnoxiously. "Whof?" I guess swallowing before speaking was a bit too advanced for him.

"I've been thinking…"

He shoved another spoonful into his half-full mouth, making it overflow. Lovely. "Abouf?"

Oh, piss – what have I been thinking about? Maybe I should think before I talk. "About, er… about relationships."

He slowed his chewing somewhat, dark eyes rolling to the back of his head as a low groan emitted from the back of his throat. "Bloody hell, don't you girls ever keep the mushy rubbish to yourself? Always want to 'talk about it'…"

I snorted at his pained expression, shaking my head dismissively. "No, no – not _my _relationships, just... relationships in general. You know, like anyone's—like Katie's."

I pretended to look casual, though I was watching him extremely closely out of the corner of my eye. There was no immediate reaction that I could see, just more inhumanly disgusting chewing. "What about her?"

"I – er," I said, not really knowing where I was going with this – believe it or not I wasn't exactly the messiah of dating, "Well, I think she might finally have her eye on someone."

"Really?" Lee said, to which I nodded enthusiastically. "How about that."

My eager expression flattened slightly. "Yeah… how about that…"

Okay, plan B.

"Well, anyway, how's your love life, Lee?" I asked with a forced ease, casually plucking up a golden slice of toast and nibbling on the edge.

He shrugged absently, eyeing my toast. "S'alright."

"Coz if you're looking for a change, I know a, er… friend of a friend… of a friendly friend… who might, you know, fancy you," I managed to convey with the grace of a two-hundred pound trucker, mentally rolling my eyes at myself – so much for convincing.

At this, his ears finally perked up and he stopped his chewing, his whole posture changing. "Yeah?"

I had to hold back a grin – blokes were too easy. "Yeah… pretty major crush, actually."

He leaned forward confidentially, eyes dark with devious excitement. "Well, who is it?"

I bit my lip with perfectly executed uneasiness, casting my eyes downward. "Can't tell you."

"Well, why the bloody hell not?" he asked, bits of toast flying out of his mouth in a lovely display of manners and etiquette.

"Because it'd be unfair to K—er, her," I quickly corrected, my sense of inner ease shattering immediately at the slip—way to fucking go, Team Andy. Averting my eyes briefly, I chewed on the crisp slice of toast, hoping he'd been chewing too loudly to catch the mistake.

He eyed me suspiciously, slowing his chewing and never letting his dark eyes leave mine. "A friend of a friend…"

"Of a friendly friend," I added, feeling rather stupid – he might see right through that, given he had any semblance of a brain.

And almost as if on cue, his eyes widened with comprehension, his entire jaw falling slightly slack. Oh, piss. Kats is going to hate me – she gets murderous when she's angry, and we sleep in the same bloody room!

Lee was staring at me with utter shock written across his face, his eyes slowly taking on a rather weary quality as he leaned back. "Bloody hell, Andy… I dunno what to say…"

"You weren't supposed to catch on!" I pleaded rather desperately, eyes serious and beseeching. _He's not supposed to be so clever! _

"Well, c'mon – the 'friend of a friend' routine is the oldest, most obvious trick in the book," he stated, expression still rather shell-shocked as he continued to eye me cautiously.

Why exactly was he looking at me like that?

"I was just trying to test you, you know – to see how you'd react?" I offered, furrowing my brow as he continued eyeing me strangely. "That's why I brought Katie up earlier, to—"

"See if I fancied her, yeah," he gathered, nodding his head and letting his eyes flit over my face rather critically, as if gauging me.

"So… what do you think?"

He wiped his mouth rather slowly, dark eyes still trained on my green gaze with slightly unnecessary intentness. "Well, I never really thought about it, but… I suppose we could give it a go."

He lifted the corner of his lips into a bit of a suggestive smirk, and I raised a dark brow – that was uncalled for. "Don't take this so lightly, Lee – I don't want anyone getting hurt, you have to mean it."

His grin faltered slightly, in its place a slightly anxious expression. "Well, truthfully – I don't really know what to say…"

I felt my face fall into a slight frown, feeling somewhat crushed – poor Kats would be devastated. "Oh."

He seemed to panic slightly at my crestfallen look. "No, no – don't get me wrong, you're a fantastic girl and all—"

My head snapped up, making my neck crick rather painfully in the rapid process. _What!? _

"—bloody brilliant Quidditch player and a looker and all that, but I just don't see you as anything more than a friend…"

He trailed off as he saw my shoulders begin shaking, my face contorted into a pained expression as I struggled to keep my laughter in. Unable to contain myself any longer, I threw my head down onto my folded arms, exploding with fits of uncontrollable laughter.

Lee exhaled sharply in horror, mistaking my laughter for hysterical crying. "A bloody amazing friend! One of the few people who makes me laugh harder than the Tomato Twins do, and… and…"

A resounding barrel of laughter twisted its way from my throat as I banged my fist on the wooden table, gasping for air.

"Oh, bloody hell, Andy! I don't know what to do… just please, _please _stop crying!"

I finally lifted my head up as far as I could, which wasn't much, my eyes red and streaming with tears of mirth. A new explosion of laughter threatened to pour out of my mouth at his panicked expression, though I somehow managed to contain it. "I-I'm not c-crying, you idiot!"

His pained face immediately faltered, his eyes welling with youthful hope. "Y-you're not?"

I choked back another peal of giggles as I nodded, wiping the tears from my eyes and struggling to right myself. "Well, I am, but it's from laughing so bloody hard."

His face crumpled, utterly perplexed. "Laughing?"

I nodded as soberly as possible, a smile pulling menacingly at the corners of my lips. "Yeah – laughing, you do it when you find something hysterically funny."

His frown deepened. "But what's funny about getting rejected?"

I snorted sardonically, rolling my eyes. "I wasn't talking about _me_, you git – I was talking about Katie."

A horrified expression immediately overcame my face as I smacked a hand over my mouth, eyes widening with terror. His face slowly changed from confused relief to wide-eyed bewilderment, and he dropped the fork he'd begun to pick with a noisy clatter.

"_Katie!?_"

I shook my head vehemently, hand still clasped over my mouth with surprising force. "Noumf!"

His eyes narrowed slightly, though they were still ridden with shock. "What?"

"No!" I repeated, briefly parting my fingers to make my words comprehensible before shutting them back over my lips again.

"But you just said—"

"I lied," I interrupted, jolting to my feet impulsively. My brain was churning rather frantically as I forced a maniacal smile. "Good joke — ha-ha and so on…"

"Wait – Andy!"

I had already begun scurrying out of the Great Hall, mentally berating myself as I heard his curious call echo from behind me. "Sorry, er – gotta finish up some last second essays and, you know, things!"

I broke out into a fast-paced run the second I breached the double doors, barreling down the empty corridor rapidly and cursing myself to oblivion in my head. Honestly, I think I just broke every girl-code ever written.

Hitting on your best friend's bloke (albeit inadvertently) – check.

Spilling your best friend's secret – check.

Spilling you best friend's secret to the person the secret was about – check.

I'm screwed. Screwed at an angle, because when she finds out—and knowing Kats' keen senses, she will—I might have to stay awake every night just to fend off her attacks. She's the sly, quiet kind of killer, the one you won't ever see coming – silent for days and then _BAM_!

You die.

_Wheeee. _

My eyes immediately closed with dread, a low groan escaping my throat as I skidded to a halt in front of the stone staircase that lead up to the Gryffindor tower, ascending the steps hurriedly.

I wasn't quite sure what I was running from, it wasn't like Lee was chasing me or anything, but for some reason I felt like sprinting to the dormitories would remedy the situation slightly. The incline finally leveled out, giving way to a small landing on which the portrait of the Fat Lady hung.

She glanced at me with distaste, obviously miffed from my ignoring her the other night, and swung open blandly after I stated the password. I scrambled through the portrait hole and flew right through the empty common room, jogging up the stairs quickly before finally kicking the door to our bedroom open.

I burst in, slamming the door shut behind me and throwing myself against it. I tossed my head back, knocking it against the hard maple in a repetitive motion. "I'm. So. Bloody. Thickheaded!"

"I agree."

I nearly exploded out of my own skin in shock, jolting a few feet into the air at the sound of the low, dry voice. I glanced around frantically as I pulled my wand out of the elastic band of my jeans, waving it before me threateningly. "Who's there?"

I heard a wry snort sound from a few feet away, and my sharp gaze immediately flew over to the farthest bed, straining in the darkened room – I'd made the others leave the curtains closed so I could sleep in. "The Boogey Man – who do you think, Wiles?"

My eyes widened at the sound of the familiar, accented voice, making me lower my wand and stomp over to the bed indignantly. "_Wood_?"

He was lounging across the bed – my bed, to be exact – looking utterly relaxed and at ease with his head resting against his crossed arms. "'Lo, love."

My mouth fumbled wordlessly in shock for a moment, and I tried to gather my thoughts. _What the bloody hell is he doing here? _"What the bloody hell are you doing here!?"

I'm not a very roundabout person.

He shrugged carelessly, and for the first time I noticed that he was clad only in the tight, white under armor shirts everyone wore under their Quidditch kits during the winter and a loose pair of trousers. His muscles were momentarily distracting.

"You didn't show up to practice this morning," he stated simply, staring at me with a seriousness that greatly counteracted the ease in his tone.

"I'm aware of that," I responded somewhat distractedly, still flustered that he was in my room – my bloody_ bed_!

"So, naturally, I came up here a little later expecting to find you a) dead; b) dying; or c) in a state of total paraplegia; when to my utter shock, I find you're not here at all."

I stared at him with complete disbelief, stunned that he would go to such extreme measures just to find out why I wasn't a practice – had he no _life_? "...you're joking."

He shook his head, expression critical as he let his gaze travel down the length of my body carefully and deliberately. "Now, you don't look paraplegic, dead, or in the process of dying to me, so I'm simply _dying _to hear your excuse for cutting practice."

"I don't—why—you—you're in my bloody bed!" I finally conveyed, gesturing rather wildly with my hand for emphasis.

The corner of his lips lifted into a slight smirk, and he slowly shifted about somewhat for show. "Yes – quite comfy, actually, though I could've done without the bras and lacy knickers lying about."

"Those are Alicia's!" I protested, my cheeks growing slightly red with embarrassment as he raised a dark brow, clearly amused.

"Figures you aren't capable of anything the least bit sexy," he stated, making the heat of my cheeks veer from slight mortification to anger.

"Oh, and how would you know? It's not like I'd ever wear lacy knickers for you!" I snapped, to which he grimaced melodramatically.

"Oh, my eyes!"

"Shove off," I replied, crossing my arms and glaring at him. "And get the bloody hell off my bed!"

He simply stared at me evenly, the familiar spark of challenge swimming about his gaze. "No."

I gritted my teeth together, distinctly annoyed and still rather flustered. "_Why_ _not_?"

"Because," he stated simply, lifting his arms up into a stretch that showed off his leanly sculpted torso a bit too well for my liking, "you still haven't given me a reason for skiving practice."

"Try I quit the sodding team, you wanker," I snapped, uncrossing my arms and taking a few steps toward his lazy position, ready to shove him off if I had to – I mean, I slept there!

He snorted, tossing me a cynical look. "You didn't quit."

"Oh, yes I did!" I replied heatedly, irritated by the fact that he thought he knew me better than I knew myself – arrogant prat. "I clearly said 'I quit' yesterday after practice, when you hauled me off the ruddy field, remember?"

He smirked at the memory, making my blood begin to boil slightly. "Yeah – but you didn't mean it."

My glare intensified as I gestured at him indicatively. "Obviously I did, or you wouldn't be here."

He paid little heed to my remark as his gaze caught hold of something else, and he squinted past my left hand to try and make out something. "How to Bewitch Your Wizard – _Seven Ways to Steal His Heart_," he read sardonically from the cover of one of Alicia's magazines, lips curling into a grin.

With reflexes only star Keepers could boast of, he snatched up the magazine from the floor, avoiding my attempt to wrench it out of his grip by turning on his back and flipping to the correct page. "Bloody hell, Wood – you don't just rifle through other people's stuff!"

He snorted derisively as he scanned that page, smile growing with every subsequent word. "What, you mean this isn't yours?"

"As a matter of fact, no!" I declared, indignant on Alicia's behalf as he sniggered at the magazine mockingly, making me once again swipe at it.

"My wizard loves it when I put a little extra into my appearance – he says my sexy eyes are worth any wait," he cooed in an unnaturally high, whiny voice, diving to the side rapidly as I tried to grab hold of the text. "What rubbish – any bloke hates waiting for a girl to get ready, drives us mental!"

"Maybe not all blokes are impatient sleazes like you," I snapped through clenched teeth, partially climbing onto my bed in order to gain better position for snatching the magazine away.

He snorted as he held the glossy text down against his chest, taunting me with it by rolling over and making it virtually inaccessible. "What would you know about my dating habits – in fact, what would you know about dating in gener—_oomph_!"

He groaned as I shoved his head down into my thick pillow, temporarily muffling his mocking drawl with my unexpected strength. He reared his elbow back and caught me in the stomach, making me relinquish my hold as the air flew out of me from that simple gesture – Merlin, he was strong.

"Jesus, Wiles, you could've suffocated me," he grumbled angrily, twisting his body so that he was half-sitting, chest facing upright.

"Yeah, well that was the plan," I muttered as I rubbed the sore spot on my stomach, immediately seizing the chance to grab hold of the glimmering magazine now that he was distracted.

I grinned cheekily as he scowled, knowing it was stupid, but it was still one of our little spats that I had won. We never took them lightly, no matter how insignificant the subject matter was. In this case, it was Alicia's magazine, and I'd come out victorious.

"Keep your hands out of other people's personal stuff, you creep," I restated, tossing the magazine onto Alicia's bed for emphasis and barely restraining a cheeky smirk at his scoff.

He parted his lips to respond, eyes flat and irritated, when a momentarily perplexed look flickered across his face. His hand, buried deep within the vast expanse of covers and pillows, suddenly emerged with a dark blue, leather bound book clasped within it, making my entire face tense with growing horror.

My diary.

In Wood's hand.

My. Diary. In. Oliver. Wood's. Smarmy. Hand.

"Well, well, well," he goaded, waving the small book in front of him teasingly, "what ever do we have here?"

"Wood," I warned with a frightening intensity, my eyes practically electric with anger, "put it down."

He glanced at the book appraisingly, pretending to weigh the demand in his head for a moment before fixing me with a mocking smile. "No, I actually think I might want to read this one."

My glare flashed with lightning-like anger, my fingers buzzing and ready to strike. "I'm not kidding in the least – put it down. _Now_."

Okay, so maybe I was being a little melodramatic here, but _come on_. That was my bloody _diary_. Granted, I never really wrote in it – I think the last time was back in fourth year when I was stuck in bed with the flu and had nothing better to do – but for all Wood knew, my deepest, darkest secrets were in that thing. What if I used it every day, like Kats did? What if all of my dark thoughts and fleeting dreams were scribbled on those pages?

Granted, they weren't, but still: this was a major invasion of privacy, even for him.

He simply stared at my explosive eyes, dark gaze alight with a quiet satisfaction – he knew he had me this time. With a slow, infuriating calm, he flipped open the book, clearing his throat cheekily. "September 13th – I feel kind of schizophrenic writing in this thin—!"

It was as if a bomb had gone off within me. The volatile rage I felt as I watched him read out my personal thoughts was indescribable. With a mind-blowing speed I had no idea I possessed, I pounced on him, wiping the satisfied smirk clear off his handsome face.

He grunted with protest as my body made contact with his, throwing him flat on his back and pinning him down against the bed. My hands immediately went for his neck, though he managed to grab one of my hands with his own, considerably lessening the choking effect.

"Give it to me!" I snarled as he wedged the book beneath his back and the bed, managing a somewhat pained grin as he shook his head.

"No can do," he gritted out as my hand clamped down harder around his neck, though I couldn't do much with only one hand. I tried to free my other from his grasp in order to try and wrestle out the diary from beneath him, but his rough fingers clasped around it tightly and wouldn't let my wrist go.

"Let go!" I cried angrily and lifted a leg from my straddling position, getting ready to knee him in a rather sensitive area. He quickly caught on, however, and instantly let go of my hand to grab my thigh, holding it back fiercely.

In this brief window of opportunity I debated whether it would be wiser to reinforce my other hand in its choking endeavor or try and fish out my diary – and in my usual impulsive, irrational way of thinking, I decided to go for the gold.

I dove my hand under his back, twisting it in order to squish through his weight before finally making contact with his other hand.

Shit. "_Give me my fucking diary_!" I cried as I tried to jangle the book free, finding it impossible under the pressure of his weight as well as my lack of leverage – I was practically falling now that his hand wasn't holding my arm up.

Correction: I _was_ falling. "_ARGH_!" we both cried in unison as my chest came crashing down against his, my head plunking against his shoulder and my long, dark waves falling across his face.

"Bloody—_get off_!" he cried, his raspy voice muffled by the thick bundles of hair falling into his mouth. He sputtered in attempt to spit the hair out, and I figured that at least _something _was choking him.

"Not until you hand over my—"

"I'm not giving it back!"

"Then I'm not getting off!"

"—can't breathe; bloody hair!"

"Good!"

I raised my head slightly to glare at him, though my anger faltered slightly when my nose brushed right against his due to our unexpected proximity.

His dark eyes locked with mine, and for a moment our wrestling came to halt as we both realized the situation with a silent 'Oh'. We were on a bed, his hand on my thigh, my body straddling his, our faces mere millimeters away from each other.

For a moment of suspended silence we simply stared, breathing heavily from our slightly forgotten anger and having close to no idea of what to do. The flecks of gold in his maple eyes were on clear display before me, the planes and contours of his face inviting to me to take them in.

However, before either of us could so much as break the silence, a cursed blessing in the form of Alicia Spinnet did it for us.

"Well, this is cozy."

The two of us sprang apart almost immediately, struggling to disentangle ourselves from one another as Alicia stood in the doorway, arms crossed, leaning against the frame with a wry smirk.

"It's definitely not what it looks like," I muttered darkly, reverting back to my previous anger as I glared at him, remembering the fact the he still had my diary. "Give it, Wood."

He parted his lips to answer, eyes filled with insufferable satisfaction, but Alicia beat him to it. "Really? Coz it _looked _like you two were having a bit of a moment – didn't mean to interrupt."

"You didn't interrupt anything," Wood asserted, tone suddenly all-business, no-nonsense as he tossed the diary at me, making me miss the catch in surprise – bipolar, much?

"Uh-huh," Alicia replied skeptically, suggestive eyes flitting between both of us as Wood frowned, shaking his head.

"Don't even joke, Spinnet," Wood demanded, making me snort derisively at how authoritative he suddenly became whenever he shrugged the Quidditch Captain mold back on, "inter-team dating is strictly against the rules – no exceptions."

"Don't flatter yourself, Wood," I drawled as I crossed my arms, motioning with my head for him to leave now that I had my diary back. "You can go now."

"You coming to practice tomorrow?"

I arched a dark brow. "Must I spell this out for you? I. Quit. Q-U-I-T—means you stop doing something."

He folded his arms across his chest, staring at me critically. "If you stop coming to practice, I'm going to have to replace you – new try-outs and everything."

I shrugged as unaffectedly as I could, though the thought did shake me up slightly – was he seriously going to replace me? I was bloody good, worth salvaging, in my opinion! "Fine."

He continued staring for a moment, as if weighing something in his head, before finally shrugging, lifting his arms up in resignation. "Fine."

With that, he swiveled about and waltzed out of the room, grabbing the broom leaning against the wall on his way out and mounting it in order to descend the gender-specific staircase. I stared after his retreating form for a moment, wondering whether he would really go as far as holding try-outs when a pesky snicker interrupted my thoughts.

My gaze snapped over to Alicia, who was smirking wickedly and fingering a blonde curl. "So… have fun today?"

My face flattened into a scowl as the day's events flew before my eyes, ranging from my disastrous conversation with Lee to the rather awkward Wood encounter. "No."

Alicia merely raised a brow, leaning against her bedpost and eyeing me suggestively. "Had me fooled."

**Author's Note: **'Ello – chapter two, woot! Reviews are love, and love is great. Many splendored and whatnot. Favorite quotes, as always, would be wildly appreciated!


	3. The Road to Hell is Paved

**Settling the Score.**

The Road To Hell is Paved With Good Intentions

"…was utter hell today, he made us do the Gillygock formation and all these other crazy warm-ups just because you weren't there," Alicia was saying rather accusingly the following day in the common room, oblivious to the fact that I wasn't paying any attention to her whining.

No, my focus was directed on the massive pile of Astronomy homework spilling across my lap, glaring at me after weeks of neglect due to insane Quidditch scheduling. Now that I had no excuse to put it off—other than I simply didn't want to do it—I was attempting to sort through it as best I could.

I lifted up an empty star chart and wrinkled my nose, adding it to the pile of five or so by my foot. "I think I might have to spend a bit of time in the Astronomy tower tonight – try and catch up on these charts."

Alicia snorted as she glanced over the assignments, an Astronomy buff due to her obsession with planet alignments and horoscopes. "That might prove a bit difficult, seeing as the stars and planets we can see change position every few weeks."

I frowned at her announcement. "Do they really?"

She rolled her eyes, lounging back into a stuffed armchair and stretching out her legs, ignoring the various wizards ogling her. "You've been taking Astronomy for how many years?"

I brushed off the comment, instead focusing on the dates the charts were supposed to have been completed by and scowling – some were up to months ago. "Bollocks – I don't know what the sky looked like a month and a half ago!"

Alicia glanced upward in thought for a moment, scrunching her pretty face. "Jupiter and Mercury were aligned, and Orion was in the center of the sky."

I stared at her unblinkingly, managing a coy smile as I handed her the chart. "Please?"

She glared at me half-heartedly, alternating her gaze between the chart and my pleading face before quirking a blond brow. "Only if you come to practice tomorrow."

My face crumpled as I sighed, dropping my head dramatically. "I _can't_, Ally – the whole point was to get Wood to back down. He won't take me seriously if I just waltz onto the Quidditch pitch tomorrow and act like nothing happened."

"Then don't act like nothing happened," she explained, grabbing the chart out of my hand and starting to fill it with thoughtless ease, "go to him and give him a bit of a telling off before setting some regulations concerning how he treats you."

I threw her a pointed glance, expression flat and disbelieving. "Oh, sure, because he's really going to listen. Besides, I need this break to try and get on top of things."

A sly smirk pulled at her lips as she dotted something with her quill. "You seemed pretty 'on top of things' yesterday afternoon."

My nose wrinkled in confusion for a moment before flattening out into a dark scowl. "Oh, shove off."

Her smirk deepened at my defensive response, and casually, innocently, she began singing "Let's Get it On," scribbling in yet another answer.

I rolled my eyes and grabbed up my tattered Astronomy folder, rifling through my bag for a self-inking quill and shuffling to my feet. "I'm going to try and finish this – would you stop singing that bloody song?"

I scoffed as she got to the chorus, snapping to the sultry rhythm, and turned on my heel, stalking over to the Portrait hole. Stupid girl didn't even know the words. "I've been feelin' fine, baby!"—really?

Irritated, I glanced down at the blank chart in my hand, not paying attention to my surroundings and consequently knocking into someone with a graceless 'Oomph!'

"Women – can't seem to keep their hands off me," a familiar voice said, and I glanced up at the tall, rather lanky bloke with a shock of red hair and adorable freckles standing before me—George Weasley. He grinned, mischief dancing in his eyes as he shoved an accusing finger in my face. "You weren't at practice today."

I sighed at the statement, growing rather wary of explaining myself over and over again simply to meet the same response. "Yeah, I know."

"Were you dying?"

"No."

"Dead?"

"Obviously not."

"Paralyzed?"

"Nope."

His grinned widened. "Then you're not legitimately excused."

I nodded tiredly, a dark scowl sweeping over my features. "Wood took it upon himself to personally deliver the message."

George snorted in amusement. "Is that why he left practice early? I figured his mum must've died or something."

My eyes widened slightly despite my irritation. "_George, _you don't joke about that sort of thing."

He shrugged absently. "It's true."

I snorted at his indifference, shaking my head. "You're going straight to hell."

He grinned cheekily. "No, you see I've reasoned this out – they say the road to hell is paved with good intentions, right?"

I raised a dark brow. "And?"

"I have no good intentions."

I chuckled lightly as I pushed past him to climb through the portrait hole.

"Oi, where you going?"

"Astronomy Tower," I called over my shoulder, swinging the portrait open.

I heard him snort humorously from the common room. "Have fun."

"Will do," I drawled, shaking my head at my misfortune as I ambled down the lightly bustling corridor – that is, of course, until my eyes met with an eager pair of dark brown ones.

Shit.

"Oi, Andy!" Lee called out, pushing through the crowd gathering about him and Fred Weasley as I tried to quicken my pace.

"Sorry, Jordan – essays to write, star charts to botch," I chirped with a somewhat forced ease as I broke out into a brisk sort of power walk. I felt like Angelina – the girl always walked like twenty paces before everyone else like the dictator she was.

"Wait, I just wanted to talk to you about Ka—"

"Kaleidoscopes? Yeah, don't know anything about them, sorry," I interjected in a charmingly Tourette's-esque fashion, spitting out the first Ka-word that sprang into my head to cover his announcement.

"Kaleidoscopes?" he echoed, his voice seeming farther away as I strode even faster, effectively losing him amongst the crowd. "I didn't say…"

I sighed in relief as I turned a corner and his voice trailed off, slowing my Speed Walker Marathon pace and letting my tension ebb slightly. I knew I was going to have to deal with that whole situation eventually, but at the moment putting it off seemed like the most viable option.

I spent the remainder of the rather lengthy trip to the Astronomy Tower mentally berating myself – something I'm beginning to realize I do quite often – and cursing under my breath. It was wonderfully schizophrenic, and by the time I got all the way up the stairs, I'd convinced about thirteen portraits that I was mental.

_Let's just get this over with_, I thought as I pushed the thick, oak door to the Observatory open, sighing in resignation. These next few hours were not going to be fun, not by any means – Astronomy had never been my strongest suit.

Or really one of my suits, period.

I dumped my doodle-covered folder onto a nearby chair, extracting one of the many empty star charts from within it and wandering over to the telescopes by the window.

"Alright," I muttered to myself as I bent over one of them, squeezing an eye shut and peering into the thick lens with the other, "which one of you buggers is Neptune?"

An endless sea of stars and constellations twinkled back at me, a uniform blanket of identical white dots peppered against a black, satin canvas. A slow, dark scowl lowered itself over my features. "Splendid."

* * *

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Saturn – can't you just raise your sodding hand or something!" I snapped at the evening sky as I glared through the telescope, utterly frustrated and beyond sanity.

Honestly, could the stars be a _little _less annoying? Always bloody twinkling and throwing you off – making you think, 'Oi, could be a planet!' when really it's just a stupid con-artist star shining extra bright just to mess with your head.

I exhaled sharply in frustration as I shoved the instrument away, wrenching my messy, scribble-littered chart off the window ledge and simply making up the planet's position. After a moment of furious scrawling, I held it up and peered at it – it didn't exactly scream 'bullshit'.

"Good enough," I muttered, tossing the parchment back down onto the ledge and bending back down to the telescope, pretending to know what the hell I was doing. Of course, as luck would have it, my hand accidentally knocked the instrument askew in the process, and the pre-set crystal clear image grew slightly blurry. "Oh, brilliant – simply brilliant."

My eyes rolled skyward as I tried to reposition the lens, having immense difficulty finding the correct knob to do so. Naturally, there were about seven million of them, and I had absolutely no idea what any of them did.

After a moment of silent contemplation, I shrugged – couldn't hurt to try all of them. So I reached out for the first one, turning it to the left slightly and peering into the lens with expectant eyes.

Everything was black. Oh. Great idea, Andy.

Without even bothering to readjust it, I simply moved on to the next knob, too aggravated to stop and think like a rational human being.

Shit. The clear black was now a fuzzy, texturized kind of black.

Excellent.

I groaned as I rapidly fiddled with the remaining knobs, twisting them somewhat erratically in order to get some sort of distinguishable image, though they really didn't alter the hazy black much.

"Fan-fucking-tastic," I growled as I stepped away from the telescope, glaring it down like the monstrous, out-to-ruin-me beast that it knew it was.

I heard a low chuckle sound from a few feet away, dark and condescending, and I immediately swiveled around in surprise. My scowl deepened at the sight before me – Wood leaning against the door frame, staring at me with a crooked smirk. Typical.

"You're always so colorful in your choice of language," he drawled, the Scottish accent lighting up his voice in the darkness.

My gaze narrowed, wondering what he of all people was doing in the Observatory this late at night. "Is there a reason you're here, or is stalking people just another wonderful quality of yours to add to my list?"

He snorted derisively. "You have a list?"

I tapped my head. "Mental."

The corner of his mouth lifted. "No argument there."

I shot him a 'ha-ha-you're-so-funny' look before wheeling back around, swooping down to the telescope and keeping my back to him. I was fully prepared to simply delve into my assignment and ignore him until he went away, but then the blurry, entirely black image once again met my eyes.

"Oh, bollocks," I muttered, pulling away from the telescope and crossing my arms. Well, great, there went that plan.

"Having trouble?"

A steely look flickered over my features as I brushed off the comment, determined to ignore him. I glanced at the first two knobs – the ones that had done the damage in the first place – and contemplated moving them again.

Well. Couldn't hurt.

I tentatively reached out and twisted the first one, peeking back into the lens hopefully. My face immediately crumpled into a scowl – nothing. I repeated the process with the second one, growling with frustration as once again, nothing changed.

"Bloody—_argh_!" Without really thinking, I just grabbed the nearest knob and began readjusting it furiously, trying to get some sort of image to surface before my eyes.

After a moment of intense aggravation, something warm and rough gripped my hand, slowing it down considerably and guiding it into a careful, counter-clockwise movement. I pulled my head back immediately, and my whole back collided against something firm that I quickly defined as Wood's chest.

My gaze snapped up indignantly, mouth open and ready to protest, but I was instantly distracted by the intent look etched onto his features in the pale light of the moon. For a moment there was no mockery, no arrogance, and no authority spilling from his gaze, only gentle focus.

After a second or two, his concentrated gaze flickered to mine briefly, and he raised a dark brow. "Keep looking, you have to tell me when it's focused," he said, nodding his head toward the abandoned lens.

I mentally shook myself, wrenching myself out of my slight daze – I really had to stop getting within such close proximity, it was messing with my mind. "I didn't ask for help."

His lips curled a bit at the ends, and he returned his attention back to the knob he was twisting – the one where his large hand was covering mine. "I didn't expect you to."

I parted my lips to respond, but he gestured toward the lens rather impatiently. I rolled my eyes, sighing darkly. "I'm going, relax."

I bent low to peer back into the instrument, a spark of hope springing to life within me as I saw an incredibly blurry image of black _and _white. "It's a bit better, but I still can't make out anything."

He murmured something in response as he continued to guide my hand, though after a moment he moved on to another knob, making my fingers feel somewhat cold and oddly abandoned. "Oh – no wonder…"

I was about to ask what he'd discovered, when suddenly I felt his entire chest press against my back as both of his arms encircled mine. I reared back slightly, utterly flustered by his sudden proximity, my gaze flickering about in surprise.

Each of his arms was on either side of the telescope, closing me in within the tight space between them and his body. My eyes widened slightly as the situation, body stirring with an electric sort of anxiety.

"This side regulates the lens, the other regulates the power of the spell – you have to find a perfect balance," he explained in a low murmur that was dangerously close to my ear, though he didn't even seem to notice as he continued to mess with the focus.

"Oh," I managed rather stupidly as I tried to gather my thoughts, a bit concerned by my considerable lack of disgust. If I'd envisioned this scenario in my head without actually experiencing it, I would've immediately pictured a wave of indignation and nausea washing through my body.

Yeah, not happening.

"Wiles?"

"Huh?" I responded, shaking myself from my cluttered thoughts and refusing to look over my shoulder – that'd simply be too close for comfort. Not that this wasn't already.

"I said check it now," he restated humorously, and I could just imagine the dark smirk pulling at his lips.

"Oh, right," I muttered, rolling my eyes at myself as I bent down to gaze into the lens, careful not to press the rest of my body against his any tighter than it already was.

My gaze lit up in frenzied glee at the image before me, the tension shattering in a hearbeat. The picture was perfect – the stars far clearer and closer than they had been before, and the planets easily visible from the heightened magnitude.

"Bloody hell, Wood, you are good for something!" I cheered, all of my previous anxiety forgotten as I continued to gaze at the stunning sky in awe – my assignment had just become seven million times easier.

He snorted at my words, pulling his hands away from the telescope and stepping back casually. I ignored the fact that I suddenly felt cold. "You're not capable of saying thank you, are you?"

I glanced over my shoulder, struggling with my manic grin. "Not to gits."

His lips lifted into a smirk. "And helping you out of the kindness of my philanthropic heart makes me a git?"

Philanthropic heart? _Wood_? Uh – might I point you in the direction of the two hundred bleacher suicides he made me do? "Everything about you makes you a git," I replied, though I suddenly realized I still didn't know what he was doing here.

My eyes narrowed slightly, stare growing a bit more curious. Helping me for no reason wasn't his style – it was more along the lines of 'make me suffer and laugh on the sidelines.' Something was off.

His amused expression flickered almost imperceptibly as I held his stare, and a slow smirk crept onto my lips – busted. "You want something, don't you?"

His smirk remained casual and cool, though his eyes hardened somewhat defensively. "No."

"Then why'd you come up here?"

"I…"

My smile widened triumphantly. "Thought so – kindness of your heart, my arse."

His gaze flattened slightly, and he brought a hand to the back of his neck and rubbed it. "Look, I ran into Alicia in the common room—"

"Oh, _God_."

"—and she," he paused, lips curling into a somewhat perplexed frown, "well, she gave me a bit of a telling off – something about how I've been treating you unfairly…"

I raised a dark brow, eyeing him closely for a silent moment or two and gauging his reaction. "And do you agree?"

He simply stopped rubbing his neck, glancing up to meet my sharp stare with frank eyes. "Not really."

My gaze flattened. "_What?_"

He simply shrugged noncommittally at my expression, crossing his arms rather indignantly. "I don't see what's so wrong with how I treated you – you were late, there were repercussions."

I scoffed heatedly at his response, rolling my eyes in disbelief. "You really are a bastard, you know that? Only you can assign someone two hundred suicides for getting to practice a few minutes late and call that fair," I snapped, gaze steely and cold. "Some leader."

Shit. I knew the moment those last two words left my lips, there'd be trouble – but then again, I was too stubbornly angry to take them back.

Surely enough, his eyes took on a dark, angry gleam at my words, bristling somewhat. "Are you questioning my role as captain, Wiles?"

"As a matter of fact, I am, _sir_," I spat sarcastically, folding my arms across my chest and staring at him resentfully.

This seemed to be the wrong response, for his playful, mocking demeanor faded instantly, falling prey to cold anger. Bloody hell, he took Quidditch seriously.

"You know what, Wiles?" he asked, Scottish accent thicker due to the anger in his voice, "I was going to come up here against my better judgment and apologize; I was going to tell you that yeah, maybe I have been a little hard on you lately because I know you can take it – you're a vital part of our team and we can't have you slacking so early in the season, but _now_…"

I stared at him coolly as he glared down at me, taking a few slow, threatening steps closer so that his vast height advantage became evident. "Now you're only hope of making it back on is through trying out again, and even then, your chances are slim. We can't afford to have such a fickle princess quitting and rejoining whenever she pleases without any consideration for the rest of the team," he growled, his eyes darkening coldly as he spat out the last few words with utter disdain, "especially if she can't learn to respect her own goddamn _captain_."

A tense silence hung in the cool air for a moment after those words, his eyes glaring down at my own narrowed gaze disapprovingly. After a few seconds, he simply scoffed, shaking his head dismissively and stalking off into the darkness of the corridor.

I watched him go through steely, anger-ridden eyes, resent welling up inside me like a brewing storm as his patronizing words echoed in my head. _I_ had no consideration? _I _was a burden they couldn't afford to have?

Everyone knew that the various times I had quit, it'd just been out of frustration and anger – I always came back the next day and never skipped a single, solitary beat. I had a temper, yes – but in the end I always managed to come through for the team. I'd never really abandoned them except now, and this was just a result of one of the many unjust things that have been culminating under Wood's bloody supervision!

The bleacher suicides weren't even the half of it – it was his constant singling me out, his unnecessary lectures and patronizing rants about how I didn't catch the Snitch perfectly, or how he had caught a glimpse of it in the middle of a scrimmage and I was on the other side of the field – yet somehow I was supposed to have seen it too.

Even during our wins, he'd always make some sort of snide comment like 'We would've won even sooner if Wiles had been a little more focused.' I _was _bloody focused, I was always focused during games! I got into a sodding trance, for Christ's sake, and yet he expected more from me.

Always more, it was never good enough – and I have no idea in hell what to do to get him to realize that there is no more. I fly faster than anyone else on the team, I'm a fearless diver and a ruthless competitor – I'll chase the sodding Snitch to the other side of the globe if I have to!

And yet, somehow – that's nowhere near good enough. So, for once, I actually stood by my convictions and really meant what I said – I quit. And unless there was some sort of apologetic compromise between Wood and me, it would stay that way.

Honestly, if he thinks it's the least bit easy for me to give up Quidditch, even for a week – he's sorely mistaken. There's no other rush in the world like a deadly, game-determining dive, where it's you against the laws of gravity – nothing else can even try to control you. Wind soars by you, a deafening rush in your ear drums as your heart pounds, willing you to go just a little bit faster; to risk your life just a little but further.

It's the purest source of adrenaline available, and it's what I thrive off – adrenaline and competition.

So if he somehow thinks—in all his arrogance and distortions of reality—that this easy for me, he really doesn't know me at all.

Not one tiny, minuscule bit.

**A/N**: Reviews = love! Fav. quotes, interestingly enough, also = love! = ! I don't even know what this author's note means anymore.


	4. Double, Double, Toil and Trouble

**Settling the Score**

Double, Double, Toil and Trouble

Sunlight streamed in through the dusty windows of the Transfiguration room, filling the neatly chaotic room with golden light. The faint smell of polished wood lingered in the air, coupled with the slightly musky scent of fresh parchment. I sighed as I slumped lower into my seat, vaguely aware of the questioning looks Katie kept sending me. I'd stayed in the Observatory a good hour or so after me and Wood's little spat, trying to refocus my mind on Astronomy and having little success. Consequently, I arrived back at the dormitories considerably late—irritable, exhausted, and not at all in the mood for recounting the whole heated tale. I'd simply walked in, flopped down onto my bed, and fallen into my usual hibernation-esque sleep within seconds.

Now, however, I really had no excuse for not telling them other than not wanting to deal with their reactions—especially Alicia's. I knew she was going to interrogate me about it sooner or later since she was the one that made him go up there in the first place. I'd fill them in eventually, but for now I just wanted some quiet time to brood. No outraged protest, no condescending reprimands for being too stubborn—just silence. It's not like I had to fake happiness this morning or anything: the day I wake up in a good mood is the day Snape does a Pantene commercial. I was just predictably irritable. Neither Alicia nor Angelina asked me anything, utterly oblivious and unable to distinguish morning grumpiness from sub-radar anger.

That left one not-so-convinced person. Katie, ever the psychoanalyst, saw right through my grumpy behavior – which could possibly explain the reason why she's been eyeing me curiously all period. Every time I so much as exhale loudly, her clever blue eyes snap over in my direction to assess me.

"Kats, stop staring at me, it's creepy," I muttered under my breath, pretending to take notes as I doodled a skull and cross-bones on the edge of my parchment.

Her eyes flickered down to the rather melodramatic sketch, dark brows furrowing. "I may be way off here, but did something happen last night?"

I sighed yet again, making her brows knit further. "Kind of," I mumbled, giving into her empathetic gaze – after all, I do owe her after the whole Lee fiasco. She still doesn't know about that.

She paused for a moment, waiting for me to continue. When I didn't, she frowned. "And?"

I shot a furtive glance to the front of the room, assessing the chances of McGonagall hearing me from all the way over there. She was absorbed under a torrent of essays, having what appeared to be a sadistic field day with her overeager correction quill, so the odds were in my favor. "Alright," I muttered, swinging my gaze back over to her with resigned expression, "so you know how I went to the Astronomy Tower yesterday to botch a few star charts?"

She nodded. "Alicia mentioned something about it."

I sighed, "Well, turns out Alicia _also _mentioned something about it to Wood. She told him that he should apologize, which in Alicia-speak means she probably threatened his life, and he went up to find me, and…" I trailed off at the fleeting image of his arms around me, his low, accented voice murmuring into my ear. It lasted for a moment before I shook it off, deciding it was probably best to skip that part. "Well, we sort of got into a row."

Katie snorted. "Surprise, surprise."

"No, but..."

She raised a brow, gaze cynical. "But what?"

I shook my head at her skepticism, trying to dispel the humor in her tone. "This one was serious, Kats. We both said some stuff we probably shouldn't have said, things got out of hand, and somehow it got to 'the only way you'll even be considered for the team is if you try out again, and even then it's unlikely'."

Katie's eyes grew wide at the announcement, her sardonic expression vaporizing completely. "What!?"

I shrugged somewhat stiffly, some of my old anger rekindling now that I was retelling the story. "Seems I'm more of a burden than an asset."

She began shaking her head, gaining more and more conviction as the news seemed to sink in. "That's bollocks – straight bollocks! You're one of the best players on the team, how could you possibly be a burden?"

I gave a mirthless snort. "Ask Wood – he'll spew out a whole long list of reasons."

Katie continued to stare in disbelief. "I just… how can he… what exactly did you say?"

My face scrunched a bit, knowing full well that I'd provoked him. "I… you know, called him a lousy captain. Unfair or something."

Katie reared back slightly and grimaced, her nose wrinkling. "Ooo – bad idea."

I rolled my eyes. "You don't say."

"No, it's just… you know one of the only things he's really touchy about is Quidditch and his role as captain," she explained slowly, somewhat pained look still in place on her features.

I jutted out by bottom lip in irritation – that look always annoyed me. It just seemed to scream 'it's your fault' at the top of its lungs, and that's the last thing I needed. "Yeah, well someone had to knock him of his high horse and tell him the truth," I muttered in my defense, placing my elbows on the table and resting my chin on my cupped hands.

She eyed me critically for a moment, giving me a much-needed second of space without questioning my motives. She was always very sensitive like that – knew when to get someone to talk and knew when to leave them alone. After a minute of silence, she spoke up again. "So what are you going to do?"

I sighed at the question: it was one I'd been mulling over the whole day. "I don't know."

If I didn't try out, I'd basically be quitting the team for good, but for once I'd actually be sticking to what I said and showing some self-respect. However, if I did try out, I'd be going against my convictions again and succumbing to Wood's unfair and irrational demands. Either I stick up for myself or continue to play.

The outcome pretty much sucked in both scenarios.

I stared down at the wood of my desk, dropping a hand down to push around a random piece of torn parchment. "I honestly don't know."

* * *

"What do you mean, 'you don't know'!?" Alicia snarled as she stuffed a giant roll of bread in her mouth a few hours later, chewing rather violently. "Obviously you're going to try out again, you have to!"

I rubbed my aching temples, elbows propped onto one of the thick wooden tables of the Great Hall. The spaghetti and meatballs on my plate were mildly picked at, and the din of the large room was giving me a migraine. The obnoxious blonde and steadfast brunette before me weren't much help, either. "Guys, can we just drop it for like two seconds, please?"

"Drop it, Andy?" Angelina echoed, setting her fork down. "You do realize the Slytherin match is in two weeks, don't you?"

"Yeah, well… it'll be fine," I replied a bit lamely, waving a lackadaisical hand in the air. Truth be told, I hadn't really thought about any of the upcoming matches, though the idea of training a new Seeker within a fortnight must've been stressing Wood out. Suddenly my head felt the slightest bit better.

"Andy, it won't be fine! We'll _lose_! _We'll _lose!" Alicia repeated, making me roll my eyes—she always repeated sentences like twenty times, changing the stressed word each time just to see what it'd sound like. It really got annoying at times (re: all the time).

"You won't lose, guys," I assured them, though my tone came out more annoyed than anything. "Stop being so paranoid – you may not blow them away, but you'll still win."

"You can't win a game without a Seeker," Angelina pointed out, staring me down critically and trying to find some way of getting through to me. "Ally, Kats, and I can have a hell of a game, but if our Seeker blows the Slytherins still have a fair shot."

"Irik Viper's a bloody fast Seeker, too," Alicia added, pretty blue eyes practically piercing into mine with melodrama. "The only one who can give you a real challenge, and now you're just going to nancy out and quit. Pathetic."

I narrowed my eyes at her, knowing better than to take the bait she was trying to set up. It was true, Irik Viper was the Slytherin team's biggest weapon, but there was never too much worry over him on my part because we were well-matched rivals. He was a bigheaded idiot that considered himself God's gift to Quidditch, and though he was quite good, I knew I could handle him. What he had in strength, I had in agility – and I liked to think I'm slightly faster.

I sighed inwardly as I realized that I'd never get the chance to wipe that perpetually smug look of his face – unless by some stroke of luck Wood suddenly grew his long-overdue brain and asked me to rejoin. But I doubt it. Blokes and brain don't always go hand in hand – they think with an organ, but not that one. How bloody fitting that his name is Wood.

"You're really just going to sit there in the cold, metal stands and watch us lose?" Alicia said fiercely, taking yet another huge bit of her roll and chewing it with a vengeance.

"Close your mouth, Ally, honestly," Angelina tutted, tossing a wadded napkin at the impassioned blonde before focusing her gaze back onto me. "Well?"

I exhaled in frustration, running a hand through my hair. "Look, I don't know, alright? I don't know if it's worth it to sacrifice my pride and try out again just to have this all happen _again_."

"Who says it's going to happen again?" Angelina asked, swirling a spoon around her steaming cup of tea.

"Five years of precedent does," I replied flatly, my hollow headache picking up yet again as an obnoxious group of third year Hufflepuffs burst into fits of high-pitched laughter. "_Ow_."

"Oi, munchkins – stuff it!" Alicia yelled at the congregation, gaining a satisfactory silence in return as the young girls quieted, too scared of Alicia to glare.

I heard an amused snort from behind me, and I swiveled my head to find the source – a grinning freckled boy with chaotic red hair and unhealthy amounts of mischief in his eyes. "You tell them, Colonel Spinnet."

"Oi, Fred – d'ya think Andy should quit the team or shove her pride up her arse and try out again?" Angelina threw out casually, making me glower.

Fred's expression crumpled into one of mild confusion, his rather lost gaze flitting from Angelina over to me. "Quit… try out… what?"

"I didn't quit!" I denied, growing a bit heated at the constant misunderstanding. "Well, I mean, technically I did, but I didn't think it'd be permanent – Wood just _had _to go and have one of his dick moments were he's irrational and makes rash decisions and all in all just sucks at life…"

I sank into a series of angry mutters as Fred continued staring incomprehensibly, eyes utterly blank. He glanced at Angelina and shrugged. "No idea what she just said."

Angelina snorted, rolling her eyes at my still mumbling form before properly explaining the situation to the redhead, making sure to but it into terms that a male could understand. At the end of the rather short tale – they didn't know all of the details – his gaze snapped over to mine. "Wiles."

I glanced up with a glower. "What?"

"Go to the try-out," he ordered, his face scarily somber.

I shook my head as Alicia raised her hands up in thanks, wishing that somebody would see it from my position – it just seems like sinking to such a pathetic level. "Listen, I know you want what's best for the team, and believe me, so do I, but—"

"Andy, just go," he interjected, though within seconds a familiar devilish grin was spreading across his lips. "I've got a plan."

I raised a brow, expression skeptical. "Do you?"

He simply winked in return, sliding into the seat next to Angelina and casually draping his arm around her. She immediately shrugged it off, rolling her eyes at the redhead – he was constantly trying to chat her up. "I've got a plan for you too, love," he murmured, smirking at her as she narrowed her eyes.

"Does it involve me smacking you?"

"No, but depending on where said smacking would take place, I'd love to incorporate it."

Alicia snorted as Angelina scoffed, though the slightest hint of a smile tipped her lips up. "Pervy wanker."

"Oi, Fred!"

My mildly amused gaze flitted over to the tall form of George Weasley, who was waltzing up to the table with Lee Jordan in toe. My slight shift in mood plummeted instantly – I'd successfully avoided him up until now. Good thing Katie wasn't here ye—

"Scoot, I'm starving!"

My eyes flattened as I caught a glimpse of dark, plaited hair out of the corner of my vision. Katie plopped down next to me with an innocent grin, immediately grabbing a serving spoon and piling mounds of spaghetti onto her plate. Life loves me. Like, really – it adores me. It would be cruel of it to rob me of such a socially awkward experience, don't you think? Thanks, Life – I appreciate it. Kudos for timing, too.

"Fred, tell me you love me," George demanded, eyes burning with excitement as he finally reached the table.

"Why?" Fred asked, raising a brow. George made a few rushed hand gestures that didn't seem quite human, and within three seconds flat Fred's eyes were as wide as saucers. "Love's an understatement!"

"Three dozen!"

"Bloody hell!"

The two stood grinning like maniacs while everyone else stared through knitted brows, trying to puzzle the odd exchange out. Judging by the unwavering looks of confusion everyone was donning, no one was having much success, though Lee looked oddly detached from the scenario. I followed his distracted gaze to my left, where my eyes met Katie's quizzical frown. She looked delightfully pretty and confused, eyes bright and in search for some sort of answer to the Weasley twins' odd antics, and I sighed miserably.

"Oi, this can help me with my plan for you, Andy!" Fred announced, his gaze flying over to me.

"What plan?" George asked, confusion replacing some of his excitement.

"Tell you later, you can help," Fred responded, a devilish smile spreading over his lips – you could almost see the schemes coming together in his eyes. "But for now – three dozen, you say?"

I watched through perplexed eyes as the pair got up and wandered off, grabbing Lee Jordan offhandedly and forcing him to join them. Relief flooded me: bloody hell, at least _one_ thing went in my favor. No Lee, no Katie confrontation.

"What the hell was that about?" Alicia asked, voicing the thought on everyone's mind as she slathered butter onto her fifth roll of the night.

"Dunno, but it's always double the trouble with the Tomato Twins," Angelina warned, toying with the teabag in her cup.

"And it looks like you're caught in the middle of it," Katie teased me, twirling a large swirl of spaghetti around her fork and bringing it to her lips. "Have fun with that."

"Will do," I responded sarcastically, though I was rather curious as to what exactly the Weasley's were cooking up in those half-baked brains of theirs. Their stunts either worked out spectacularly, or…

Well.

For once in my life, I think I'll give optimism a shot.

**Author's Note:** Very short, transition chapter – I know there's no Oliver but I'm being a bit to generous with him I think. I've got to create some suspense! Anyway, a bit of a boring fluff bit to get the wheels turning for the future plot – what exactly are the Weasley's dreaming up? Guess you'll find out later, but for now – review!


	5. Revenge is Best Served by McGonagall

**Settling the Score**

Revenge is Best Served by McGonagall

_Poke._

"Are you going to try out?"

"No."

_Poke._

"Try-out."

"_No._"

_Vicious poke._

"Do it!"

"No!"

_Torpedo poke._

"George, poke me one more bloody time and you won't have any fingers left to do it with!" I finally snapped, swiveling around in my seat and glaring. We had been stuck in Herbology – which was actually more of a study hall today since Professor Sprout had come down with some sort of cold – for over an hour and about eighty percent of it thus far had been poke-filled.

George simply puffed his lips into a perfectly executed pout, his eyes widening with fabricated sadness. "Please?"

I rolled my eyes, immune to the trite look after so many years of succumbing to it. "You look like a gold fish with down-syndrome."

The expression crumpled right off his face, replaced instead with a defeated, martyred look. "C'mon, Andy – Slytherin match is in a fortnight! This little game you and Wood are playing is costing the whole team."

My eyes narrowed. "Well why don't you go tell him that, since he's the one who's not letting me back on."

"He's letting you try-out again!"

"Exactly – _again_!" I echoed heatedly, turning further in my desk so that my legs hung off the side of the chair. "If he weren't so bloody stubborn he'd just let it all blow over and readmit me."

"And if _you _weren't so bloody stubborn you'd just try-out," George countered, raising an auburn brow at me when I glared fiercely. "It goes both ways, love."

I parted my lips to respond, but upon realizing I didn't really have anything to retaliate with, settled with a low grumble. "Whatever."

I turned back around in my chair, scowling bad-temperedly and absently picking up my quill. A moment of miffed silence ensued until…

_Poke._

"GEORGE WEAS—"

"Is there an Andora Wiles is this class?"

I cringed at the sound of my full name, glancing at the front of the room warily. A seventh year boy with primly combed black hair and rather feminine features stood at the front of the room, gazing about with vacant eyes.

"That's me," I responded guardedly, fully aware of the Slytherin prefect badge pinned onto the breast pocket of his robes.

His bored gaze landed on me, and he motioned with his hand for me to follow him out the door. I threw a suspicious glance at George before sliding out of my seat, ignoring the obnoxious 'ooh's I heard a few students begin to jeer.

I pushed open the heavy door, noting the fact that the boy let it slam in my face without any intention of holding it open. Chivalry personified.

He was waiting outside the doorway, his gaze floating over to mine impatiently. "I have places to be, Gryffindor, so let's make this quick." He had an odd way of talking – for some reason none of the rest of his face moved.

My eyes narrowed as he began to walk away briskly, assuming that I'd follow him like a spineless First Year. "Whoa - hold up, why'd you take me out of class?"

He stopped and swiveled around, his gaze tapering slightly at the sight of my unmoving frame. "Oh, me? I just thought it'd be fun to have you follow me about and ask me questions, given the obnoxious, dimwitted nature of the people in your House," he responded sarcastically.

I felt my temper beginning to simmer beneath the surface of my skin at the haughty remark. "It's funny, Botox-face, because you just described your own House quite accurately."

His upper lip curled into an outraged sneer, his dark eyes flashing angrily at the comment. "_Botox-fa_ – I have _not _had Botox, you hag!"

I raised a dark brow, snorting derisively. "Someone must've petrified your face then – too bad it didn't work on your mouth."

"Why, you—!" he began, but then he suddenly stopped, taking a step closer and peering at me curiously. "Wait a minute… Wiles…"

I stared at him strangely, wondering what the hell he was doing as he tried to place something in his head. After a moment he snapped his fingers, a malicious smirk overcoming his lips. "Gryffindor Seeker."

I stared at him dryly. "Very good."

"Or as most of us have taken to calling you, Viper bait."

My stubborn pride flared dangerously at those words, sick of all the overrated buzz surrounding that one, stupid name – Irik Viper. The only reason he looked so magnificent on the field was because the only team he'd played against – Ravenclaw – had an injured Seeker and two sick Chasers, thus rendering it an easy win.

I mean, honestly, it's really easy to look amazing when you're being compared to someone with a few broken limbs.

Hufflepuff was forced to forfeit against them since they were a player short due to failing marks, though they weren't exactly a powerhouse this year anyway. Gryffindor cruised through that game easily, though they did have a very talented Keeper.

Ravenclaw was actually in full health when Gryffindor was matched against them, and they were back with a vengeance after being annihilated by Slytherin. They put up a tough fight, but the Gryffindor team was simply too strong and fast for them.

Hence, due to the fact that Gryffindor actually had to _play _against Ravenclaw, Slytherins turned up their noses and scoffed about their superiority, claiming that their game was a blow out whereas ours was rather close.

Thickheads.

"Well you can tell Viper that, once again, his overrated arse is going to get the easy way out," I snarled heatedly, for the first time really realizing what my quitting would entail, "because I'm not on the team anymore."

He raised a nicely-shaped brow—a bit too nicely shaped to be natural. "You're not?"

I gritted my teeth together, forcing my chin up. "No."

His face broke out into a leering grin. "Afraid of him, are you? I knew the hype about you was straight bollocks."

"I'm not afraid of that nancy cow!" I snapped in defense, taking a menacing step forward and clenching my fingers tightly at the mere thought.

"Convenient time to be quitting."

My eyes tapered into mere slits, volatile rage threatening to spill from them. "Don't even go there, this has nothing to with that puffed up swine – it's between me and Wood."

The boy snorted wryly. "The moronic slave-driver, I almost pity you."

My anger stilted slightly at the words, and I suddenly felt strangely defensive. I mean, I could insult and snap and whine about Wood all I wanted, but I wasn't too fond of this pompous Slytherin doing the same. "Slave-driver, maybe, but we do win our games – moronic is just absurd."

"Oh, please," he replied, motioning at me haughtily. "That ponce doesn't have a thought in his head that isn't Quidditch-related."

My eyes grew steely with indignation – _indignation_ – what was _wrong _with me? "I suppose that's why he was offered Head Boy."

I mean, honestly, even I know that Wood was uncannily bright – how else could he dream up such brilliant game plans? It was actually insanely annoying, because it made bickering with him a very mentally-taxing process – he usually knew exactly what to say to leave me brooding.

"He was offered Head Boy?" the boy echoed in astonishment, his fingers shooting up to his over-polished Prefect's badge tentatively.

"Yes," I replied smugly, unsure of why I was gleaning such satisfaction on behalf of Wood's defense, "but he declined it - too many scheduling conflicts."

The boy simply stared in stunned disbelief, slowly cascading into a jealous world of thoughts concerning his own deprival of the coveted badge. "Oliver Wood… un-bloody-believable…"

I rolled my eyes dismissively, feeling suddenly very tired with the conversation. "Look, you needed to tell me something?"

The boy snapped out of his thoughts, his lips curling back into their haughty sneer as he composed himself. "Right – McGonagall wants you in her office."

I felt a pang of wariness shoot through my body at the idea of a private conference with the strict Head of House. "Now?"

"Yes," the boy responded with a sniff, turning around and taking a few strides away before adding, "actually, you're late."

"Oh, piss," I muttered as I pushed a loose strand of hair out of my face, trying to dream up the fastest route to the Transfiguration room.

After a moment or two of quick thinking, I decided on just taking the long route since I wasn't quite as crafty as the Tomato Twins and I didn't know any crazy secret passage ways. I have to make George give me a tour of all the secrets of Hogwarts one day – he knows every shortcut and room in the entire castle somehow.

_She's not going to be very happy with me_, I thought wearily as I reached her door a good five minutes later, taking a deep breath before pushing it open.

I stopped after a moment, surprised to see Wood sitting in the chair in front of her desk, apparently trying to reason with the strict older woman. McGonagall was shaking her head in obvious disagreement, preaching something about respect going both ways when her stern green eyes met mine.

"Oh, hello, Ms. Wiles – nice of you to join us," she greeted in a surprisingly sincere way, no sarcasm lying beneath her tone.

I smiled uncomfortably as I took a few steps, surprised that I wasn't receiving a lecture about punctuality – her little spat with Wood must've been a sufficient distraction. "Er – hello."

"Do sit down."

I slowly slid into the chair next to Wood's, not meeting his gaze purposefully – we had yet to talk since our rather angry row a few days ago. "You wanted to see me, Professor?"

"Indeed," she replied curtly, her stare flitting between me and Wood repeatedly, as if gauging something. "Ms. Wiles, it has come to my attention that you've decided to resign your position as Seeker for the Gryffindor team."

My eyes narrowed slightly, fighting the urge to snap over and glare at Wood. "Is that what he told you?"

The woman frowned. "Is that incorrect?"

"_Hardly—_"

"Mr. Wood, I was addressing Ms. Wiles," McGonagall said curtly, seeming slightly annoyed with the insolent boy.

I fought the urge to smirk victoriously, feeling a bit more comfortable now that I knew McGonagall was prone to taking my side. "Well, although I initially did quit the team – granted I had my reasons – I had every intention of rejoining—"

"Bollocks!"

"_Language_, Wood!" McGonagall snapped, glaring at him sharply for a moment before resettling her flustered gaze on me, exhaling crossly. "Please continue, Andora."

The left corner of my lips lifted slightly into a smug half-smile, though I restrained myself from sending him a triumphant look. "Well, the bottom line is that Wood told me that the only way I had any sort of shot of rejoining the team is by trying out again, and even then it would be unlikely."

McGonagall processed this information for a moment, raising a severe brow and slowly switching her gaze over to Wood. "Is this true, Mr. Wood?"

I could hear him sigh with frustration. "Well, yes – taken out of context."

"Taken out of context?" I asked, swiveling about to face him now with outraged eyes. His hair was slightly disheveled and his maple eyes were bright with simmering anger – he looked like he'd been at this argument for a while.

"Yes, taken out of context," he echoed angrily, gesturing with his hand for emphasis. "You can't just conveniently skip over the part where you insult my position as captain, skip practice just to sleep in—"

"Once I'd already quit!"

"—_disrespect _my authority—"

"Maybe if you didn't abuse it!"

"—kind of like you're doing _now_—"

"You're not my authority!"

"I'm your sodding _captain_!"

"_I'm not on the team, you bloody mor—_"

"Mr. Wood and Ms. Wiles – _do restrain yourselves_!" McGonagall cried shrilly, her voice adopting the same high-strung, frantic quality it always took on when she was angry.

Both of us shut our mouths furiously, glaring wordlessly at each other before snapping our gazes over to McGonagall sharply. She was staring at as reprovingly, her sharp eyes narrowed. "Are you both quite finished?"

I heard Wood grunt rudely. "She started it—"

"Are you _kidding _me!?"

"Oh, so it was _me_, was it!?"

"Well, _obviously_, you sodding wan—!"

"_Cease_ and de_sist_!" McGonagall interjected yet again, her green eyes blazing at our indignant lack of respect for her authoritative presence. "Goodness, the first years are more mature than you two!"

I exhaled crossly, ripping my turbulent glare away from Wood and staring at a random piece of parchment on her desk heatedly.

"Now—if you two can search deeply and find it within yourselves to act your age, maybe we can reason this out," McGonagall said crisply, voice slightly acidic. "Do you think you're capable of that?"

My glare grew steely. "_I _am – he's probably another story."

"Would you stop assuming you know everything for once in your life!?"

"I don't assume I know everything!"

"Oh, _really_? Because it _seemed_ like you were _assuming _that I wouldn't be capable of a mature conversatio—"

"There's a difference between assumption and fact!"

"Oh, it's a _fact_, now, is it!?"

"Did I stutte—"

"_WOULD YOU LOT STUFF IT ALREADY_?" McGonagall finally exploded, her voice cracking with shrill exasperation as she knocked her fist onto the polished surface of the desk.

Both Wood and I immediately silenced, our words dissolving off of our tongues at the volatile frustration in the stern woman's eyes. "Both of you are representative of _my_ House, so you will behave civilly, is that _clear_!?"

We both nodded gruffly, my eyes settling into a quiet glare as I lowered my gaze to my hands. They were clenched tightly and somewhat red from my nail marks, which made me loosen my fists slightly. I hadn't even realized I'd balled them up in the first place.

After a moment or two of what was most likely an alleged 'calming' silence, McGonagall nodded brusquely, somewhat satisfied.

"Very well – now I've come to a conclusion," she stated matter-of-factly, making both me and Wood glance up questioningly, eager to hear her verdict.

She had to side with me, I mean, she outright snapped at Wood a few times. Granted, she snapped at both of us quite a few times, but she doesn't like blokes as much.

Besides, I'm the right one.

In fact, I know what'll happen – she'll make Wood beg for me to rejoin and I'll feel much better and laugh obnoxiously in his smarmy fa—

"Neither of you is justified."

I blinked, slowly and deliberately. _What_?

"You two have personal issues that you need to resolve outside of the pitch, because after those consecutive outbursts, it's clear that you're rather violent antagonism toward each other goes beyond Quidditch," she declared, making both of us stare at her like she was utterly mental.

We had nothing else in common besides Quidditch – that's the only thing we ever talked about! We weren't even in the same year, we had none of the same classes except for Arithmancy, which I was a year ahead in – how were our issues 'beyond Quidditch'?

"The only way I see fit to remedy this situation is to give the two of you more time together to battle it out—"

_What!?_

"—so you can really get past this silly nonsense and do what's best for the team," she stated authoritatively, though a competitive gleam surfaced in her eyes, "because Merlin knows I am _not_losing to Slytherin; Severus has been positively insufferable these days with that Irik Viper…"

Somewhere in the back of my mind, the name made my brain jolt with irritation, though at the moment my head was too consumed with apprehensive dread – _more _time with Wood? Did she not realize that more time spent together simply meant more time spent fighting?

"Anyway, what do you two think about heading the Gryffindor Banquet?"

An immediate surge of bile rose in my throat at the idea, my stomach swirling with an unpleasant squirm. The House Banquets were just about the lamest, most painfully boring functions Hogwarts ever had the stupidity of creating.

They were just a stupid excuse for each house to go off about how amazing it was and what talent it had – of course Ravenclaw and Slytherin always had a field day. Slytherin always got thousands of galleons put into their banquet, making it as extravagant a party as humanly possible; while Ravenclaw simply couldn't quite fit all their nerdy accomplishments into one night.

Both houses made a huge deal out of the House Banquets, whereas Gryffindor and Hufflepuff saw them for what they were – utterly pointless. Hence, theirs were always shoddy – a few boring guest speakers, a bit of ball dancing, and idle chitchat.

In fact, the only thing that could possibly be more boring than attending the Banquet would be _planning _the Banquet.

I pity the person who has to do both. Oh, right – silly me. I _am _that person.

"…are you serious?"

McGonagall's no-nonsense eyes snapped over to mine mirthlessly. "Incontrovertibly."

McGonagall speak for 'you're damn right', I took it. "Do we have a choice?"

Her eyes simply narrowed into dangerously thin slits. "Take a wild guess." This seemed to fall into the 'no' category.

"There's no chance of getting out of it?" I ventured, feeling the beginnings of desperation in the pit of my stomach as I watched her lips purse coolly.

"Buckbeak's far more likely to become Minister of Magic." Another form of 'no' – you'd think that the simple word would suffice.

My eyelids lowered in tetchy defeat as my gaze snapped over to Wood, accusing glare already in place – a good chunk of this was _his _fault, after all.

He was staring at McGonagall with a skeptically wary expression, dark eyes serious. "Surely you're kidding, Professor – those banquets are _hell_…"

Her tight lips lifted slightly into a satisfied smirk. "I don't 'kid', Wood."

I sighed heavily, crossing my arms in front of my chest as she began listing the various projects we'd be undertaking, each one getting considerably more boring than the last—the exciting range went from the silverware selection to the wild world of napkins.

My eyes narrowed dryly as she droned on.

This was going to be _fun_.

**Author's Note**: Quick-ish update; please review! I haven't forgotten about the Weasley plot, for those of you who are wondering what it is :o) Fav. quotes (although I know there are probably not all that many in this chapter) are always scrumptious!


	6. Visions and Decisions and Revisions

**Settling the Score**

Visions and Decisions and Revisions

"It's official then?"

"S'pose so."

"The git wasn't kidding."

"S'pose not."

"So… what are you going to do?"

I stared at the rather large square of parchment plastered right in the center of the flooded notice board, charmed to blink urgently and capture everyone's attention. The words 'Gryffindor Needs New Seeker, ASAP' were flashing in red ink, followed by a brief paragraph or so concerning the dates for try-outs and such.

A low, steely sigh escaped from my lips as I glared down the words, lips twitching somewhat with irritation. "Dunno, really," I muttered darkly, annoyed by the feeling of Alicia's wide, blue eyes staring at me critically. "There's not really much I _can _do."

She pursed her lips, gaze taking on a tinge of annoyance. "Well, yeah there is," she pointed out, raising a blonde brow at me. "You could just try—"

"_No_," I interjected, eyes rolling with considerable ire as she made to say the ever-predictable suggestion. Tearing my glare away from the blinking parchment, I wheeled around and treaded over to a nearby armchair, sinking down into the worn, burgundy cushions with a huff.

Barely a day had gone by and he'd already plastered a sodding notice on the board, announcing that try-outs were in four days. Four bloody days, I mean really—overeager, much? After yesterday's meeting with McGonagall, I wasn't entirely sure where the whole 'replacement' thing stood.

Now I was perfectly clear—the thickhead was going through with it. And apparently it was a rather steamy topic of conversation.

"…what do you reckon she did?"

"Dunno—but obviously Oliver wasn't very happy about it…"

"…heard it takes a lot to get him angry…"

I nearly snorted at the last one, barely registering the not-so-muted whispers taking place a few feet away from me. _I sneezed once during a speech of his—all hell broke loose_, I thought dryly, casting my gaze over in the direction of the voices.

A mingled assortment of fifth and seventh years were staring at me critically—Quidditch hopefuls assessing the shoes they were attempting to fill. Most of them seemed mildly curious, a few even admiring, but one girl in particular looked downright insufferable.

She had long, blonde hair that was a few shades too pale in my opinion, paired with rather vindictive hazel eyes and haughty, delicate features. Her expression was one of utmost critique, nose wrinkled into a permanently disapproving expression and strawberry colored lips pursed.

She had a rather snooty kind of beauty that screamed of wealth, enhanced by the silken collared shirt and designer plaid skirt her uniform consisted of. I couldn't help but bristle slightly with annoyance as the girl eyed me up and down, summing me up in a single, disdainful glance.

I raised a brow as her olive-tinged eyes finally met with mine, expecting her to take the hint and look away, though to my surprise, she merely smirked. Not a friendly smile, or small grin—but a cool, challenging little smirk.

My other brow rose to meet the former, lips curving into a slight frown as I tried to gauge who exactly this girl was and why the hell she assumed she could toss me that look without reason. She was obviously a seventh year—the only sixth year Gryffindor girls were Angelina, Allie, Kats and I, and she held herself with far too much importance to be younger.

"Alicia," I murmured as the girl finally glanced away, a twittering little laugh sounding from her lips as some random bloke told some sort of joke, "who's that girl over there?"

Alicia glanced away from the notices she had been perusing, scanning over the room until her gaze landed on the gathered group of students. "Who, the blonde?"

I rolled my eyes briefly at how shamelessly loud she was—she didn't even try to lower her voice, she just assumed no one could hear. "Yeah, why don't you use a Sonorous Charm just in case China didn't hear you," I tossed back a bit tetchily.

She ignored my little quip as she peered closely at the girl, eyes flickering with recognition. "Oh, that's Fiona Price," she answered neutrally, staring at the uppity face. "I always get confused for her from behind; s'pose it's the blonde thing."

"Ever talk to her?" I ventured, stare still focused on the slightly pinched face.

"A few times, yeah—we're in the same Ancient Runes class," Alicia responded, gaze flitting over to mine as her blonde brow rose. "Why the sudden interest?"

A swirl of dislike was churning slowly within me as I continued to stare, unable to shake off a prickling feeling of suspicion. "No reason, really," I supplied, finally tearing my gaze away, "she just seems like a bit of a bint."

Alicia shrugged, limited attention once again focusing on the twittering group of students. "Dunno, she's been nice enough to—" Her entire demeanor suddenly shifted, the dismissive flatness in her eyes sharpening into a bright, somewhat predatory gleam. "Hel-_lo_, Señor Caliente."

Face crumpling with confusion, I glanced back at the crowd, craning my neck to follow her gaze straight to…

My expression flattened, eyes rolling briefly—a bloke. Typical. My eyes scanned over the one in question, unsurprised to find a head of neat blonde hair, a slightly pale, angular face, and a rather thin physique. The same sodding type of guy she was always inexplicably attracted to.

And I repeat—_typical._

Heaving a heavy sigh, I shook my head, expression dry. "Ally, pet, if you were any more bloody predictable, you'd be male."

Barely paying me any attention, she simply nodded idly, expression darkening with a somewhat sultry air. Sparing yet another look at the skinny Seventh Year, I couldn't help but roll my eyes again, grimacing slightly as the boy sent Alicia a suggestive wink.

Her lips curved into an elfin smirk. "Oh, bloody hell, spare me," I muttered as I reached for my ratty messenger bag, ready to make a brief and speedy exit to the dorms as the tall boy began making his way over. "I'll be upstairs gagging myself with a toothbrush—you have fun."

Slinging the strap over my shoulder, I ambled through the Common Room bustle toward the staircase, thankfully avoiding what was bound to be a somewhat nauseating exchange. All I managed to hear was a brief introduction of the name Sebastian Melmoth before the conversation fizzled out, lost in my ears to the overall din of the room.

_A-okay by me_, I thought as I quickly ascended the staircase, not for the sole purpose of escaping a potential snog-fest but simply eager to get away from the social buzz in general—this latest announcement had given me the startings of a headache. Seeing that giant notice flashing obnoxiously made this commitment a hell of a lot realer than I'd ever anticipated it to be, and I wasn't at all prepared for it.

I certainly never thought it'd get to this point.

_But now it has, so deal with it_, I thought rather cynically as I pushed open the door, having to apply a bit of force to get it to push through all the stray articles of clothing blocking its path. It was a Thursday; hence a steady, stress-induced build-up of mess had been accumulating for four days, waiting until Sunday morning for Angelina to tidy it up.

I sighed tiredly, stepping over the various discarded belongings and tossing my bag onto my characteristically cluttered four-poster. The movement was careless and haphazard, ending in quite a few books and compositions spilling over from beneath the undone clasp.

Unfazed by this, I grabbed the towel dangling from one of my bed's posters, tossing it over my shoulder and making a beeline for the bathroom. A long, scalding shower sounded right about perfect, for I could let some of my stress steam away with the water and gain a bit of peace to think things through.

Right?

_Wrong._

Perhaps five minutes into the whole de-stressing process, a furious, ear-splitting scream crashed against the walls of the dormitory, sending me jolting about five feet into the bloody air. Knocking my head against the metal shower bar, I cursed loudly, wrenching the faucet off mid-shampoo as I hastily threw the towel around my body.

That scream sounded painfully like Angelina's—for Merlin knows I knew it well—and she only used it during times of mortal peril, unimaginable fear, or shrill, unparalleled fury. Yanking the bathroom door open with a fierce tug, it only took a single glance at the frighteningly livid Prefect to know that, and why, it was the latter.

Her long, thin braids, once tiny and delicate, were now miniscule, writhing _snakes_.

"FRED FUCKING WEASLEY!" she screeched, frozen in terror, eyes completely and utterly black with cold-blooded fury, "IF YOU VALUE YOUR PATHETIC LIFE, YOU'LL GET UP HERE RIGHT SODDING NOW!"

A torrent of musical laughter filtered up from the Common Room, Fred Weasley's guttural cackle unmistakable from within the mix. "I'm afraid I can't, love—your stairs don't take too well to blokes…"

Hearing the twinkling amusement in his voice, I felt a horribly sinking feeling of dread—he obviously couldn't see what I saw. More of his laughter rang clear in the air, along with that of George and Lee, and I watched in fascinated horror as a livid, almost feral gleam overtook Angelina's eyes. Her expression said it all.

She was out for blood.

Posture strangely rigid, she walked through the doorway and stared over the stair-railing, movements twitchy and almost slightly maniacal with trembling rage. "Well, in a few moments, that won't be a problem, Fred," she murmured with an unnerving calm, especially given the twitch in her left eye.

Still too far to properly see her expression, Fred merely grinned lopsidedly from below, eyes twinkling. "And why's that?"

Baby snakes writhing wildly about her frighteningly still face, her entire expression broke down into one of utmost rage, volatile snarl escaping her lips as Fred's entire face paled. "BECAUSE WHEN I'M BLOODY DONE WITH YOU, YOU WON'T BE A RECOGNIZABLE MALE!"

And with that furious declaration, she went charging down the stairs, barreling wildly after Fred as he hurtled over various tables and couches to try and escape her warpath. "Help me! She's bloody Medusa!" he cried as he shoved a group of students out of the way of the portrait hole, scrambling through at record speed and just missing Angelina's furious swipe.

Letting out a wild growl, the usually perfectly together girl charged through the portrait hole right after him, hot on his heels as she disappeared into the bustle of the hallway. The entire Common Room had erupted in laughter long since, greatly enjoying Fred's terror and Angelina's apparent insanity.

Having rushed to the banister to gain a better view of the chaos, I couldn't help but snort at mess of upturned tables and couches Fred and Angelina had left behind, grinning despite myself at the hilarity of the situation. Only Fred could reduce someone as collected and put together as Angelina Johnson into a fit of howling rage.

However, the smile promptly hardened as my eyes caught sight of something—or rather someone—that I really had no care whatsoever to see. He had his head tossed back slightly, rumbling laugh tumbling out from the back of his throat, expression thoroughly amused.

A dull sort of anger flooded through me without warning: sure it was bloody easy for Wood to enjoy himself, his Quidditch position hadn't just been put up for grabs. It was an irrational thought, something I should've been able to get over quickly, but seeing him there all carefree and happy was making me increasingly bitter.

Just as I turned to go, I spotted a familiar head of uncannily blonde hair, realizing with a knot of unpleasant recognition that the girl he was laughing with was the same sneering girl from earlier. Fiona something or other. My eyes narrowed coolly, how fitting – the Bint and the Bigot. They could be a bloody children's play.

Almost as if sensing this sudden wave of coldness, his casual gaze flickered upwards, instinctively meeting with mine. For a moment, he looked slightly perplexed, dark brow raising as his eyes flitted over me. _What the sodding hell is his—_

It was then that I realized I was still clad in only a towel. Oh. So that's why it felt rather drafty.

And that I still had shampoo in my hair. Oh. So that's why my right eye was stinging.

Refusing to show any sort of breakdown in my composure—like, oh say, mortification—I merely lifted my chin a bit higher, glare veering from somewhat cool to steely. Catching this increase in disdain, his own expression leveled somewhat, gaze tapering into a similar expression.

He angled his head to the side briefly, indicating the bright, bloody obnoxious notice hanging high and mighty in the center of the board, as if asking if I'd seen it yet. Haughty git. As if anyone with sodding eyes could miss it.

Undoubtedly watching for my reaction, his lips curled smugly as I tossed him a delightfully vulgar hand gesture, green eyes reduced to angry slits. I was just about done with this silent little war; all it was doing was giving him a sense of satisfaction, anyway.

Tightening my grip on the white towel, I tossed back a final scoff, having nothing better to part with. A hair-flip would result in foamy shampoo scattering everywhere, and potential blindness on my part, which would be a bit counter-productive.

Hence, I simply swiveled around—though before fully doing so, I caught a familiar hazel stare assessing me coolly, snippy face lined with blatant disapproval. It was the Fiona bint. Apparently she'd felt left out of the glare-match. Always a large advocate of sharing, I managed to work in the subtlest of glowers in her direction; all out of the goodness of my compassionate heart.

Making sure to firmly shut the door behind me, I let out a rather heated sigh, trekking straight back into the bathroom and yanking the faucet from off to absolutely scalding. Abandoning my towel, I stepped in the steady stream of gradually heating water, vowing to not come out until I was significantly calmer, redder, and wrinklier.

This ended up taking all of two hours and eating away all of the castle's hot water.

I blame Wood.

* * *

"…can't believe he's bloody gay," Alicia groaned tortuously, arms poised atop her knees as she sat meditation style on her bed, blonde curls somewhat disheveled from her version of 'yoga'.

Hours had flown by since the Hair-turned-Snake incident, leaving Alicia with plenty of time to brood about the fact that the blonde bloke from earlier, who'd managed to have her completely smitten within five minutes of their meeting, was gloriously homosexual.

"Well, how can you be sure?" Katie reasoned, half-eaten Licorice Wand clutched within her fingers as she turned the page of her Charms text.

"He started talking about his sodding relationship problems, Kats," she grumbled, mood considerably soured by this development. "The trials and tribulations of a Poof."

"Well… I mean, would you really want that sort of baggage, anyway?" Katie queried tentatively, bringing her gaze away from the insipidly boring volume and resting it instead on Alicia.

"Bloke-on-Bloke baggage? In a boyfriend? Why, it'd thrill me to no end," Alicia responded sarcastically, though before Katie could clarify her meaning, the door flew open, admitting the only person missing from the room.

Angelina, now snake-free, floated into the dormitory with a rather dazed look on her features, movements somewhat slow and deliberate. No one had seen her since she'd barreled like a maniac after Fred, save for a few startled Ravenclaws who had seen her darting past furtively, on the prowl.

Expecting all sorts of muted curses and angry mutters to be tumbling from her lips, I raised a brow at the suspiciously silent entrance, abandoning my half-completed Potions outline. The snippy exchange between Alicia and Katie dwindled to a close as Angelina drifted over to her bed, collapsing down with an unceremonious thud, blinking a few times.

"He kissed me."

"_WHAT!_?"

The shriek came from all three of us at the same time, Alicia nearly falling out of her yoga pose, Katie's Licorice Wand slipping out of her hand, and my quill dropping.

"B-but he's gay!"

"_Fred?_" Katie exclaimed, wide-eyed.

"No, Sebastia—who the bloody hell are we even talking about?" Alicia demanded, utterly flustered.

"Fred, we're talking about Fred!" I responded rashly, scrambling off my bed as I dashed over to Angelina's, shock still rippling through me—Fred had been after Angelina since third year.

Following my lead, Alicia and Katie also took their loyal place around the still very much confounded girl, who had yet to say anything else on the matter. Her dark hazel eyes had a stunned quality about them, adding to her general look of dazedness.

"What happened?" Katie ventured to ask, her tone tentative so as to not spark a volatile streak in Angelina's apparent hypnosis. She didn't respond for a moment, images still whirring in her confounded gaze. "Angeli—"

"Two hours," she interjected, making Alicia's almond-shaped eyes round enormously.

"You snogged for _two bloody ho—_"

"_No_, let me finish," Angelina cut in, expression sharpening somewhat to her more usual look, though it was still a bit faraway. "I chased him around the castle for two sodding hours, bull-dozing through groups of first years and following him through passages I never even knew existed—how he knows these shortcuts, I have no idea in hell—but after a bloody long while, we ended up at the top of the Observatory, and I thought I finally had him cornered."

She paused for a moment, and I felt the anticipation rising within the room—if Fred had finally gotten through to Angelina… after three years… that was _huge_.

"So…?" Alicia prompted, eyes still wide and eager.

"So then I asked him what his coffin preference was, since I was sodding done with chasing him," she elaborated, the dazed look returning slightly as the corners of her lips lifted almost imperceptibly, "and he said that I had it all wrong. _He_ was done with chasing _me_."

I watched her as she struggled with the smile threatening her lips, trying to keep her composure immune as she finally glanced around at us. "And then he kissed me."

I shook my head slowly, grin sliding onto my lips as Alicia's curled into a wicked smirk; we had always sided with Fred on the matter of Angelina, and we made it no secret to our dear friend. Katie, unable to control herself, let out an unbearably girly squeal as she pounced forward, knocking the girl down with a giant embrace.

"Oh, I knew it!" she exclaimed, suffocating a loudly-protesting Angelina as Alicia and I glanced at each other, wicked grins communicating similar messages. I titled my head at the strangled pair, grin widening as Alicia nodded—and we both followed Katie's lead and leapt at her, smothering her with 'I told you so's.

"Oi, no, gerroff, you cows!" she demanded loudly, though her voice had a musical wash of laughter in it, taking away all sense of scorn. "I'm serious, really, nothing's changed between us!"

"Like hell it hasn't, you snogged him for two hours!" Alicia retorted, to which Angelina groaned.

"I did not!"

"But you still snogged him!"

"Not for two hours!"

"Doesn't matter!"

"No, it does—really, I don't think anything's going to come out of it!" she tried again, to which we all snorted.

"Yeah right; Fred's been after you for years, you idiot!"

"No—"

"Don't even deny it!"

"That's not it—"

"Freed and Angeliiinaa!"

"_Would you let me bloody talk_?" she snapped angrily, any sense of teasing gone from her voice. We all fell into a somewhat surprised silence, not expecting such a harsh tone amidst all the idiotic giggling and teasing. "I don't think I'm going to let anything come out of it."

I stared at her in silence for a moment, brow raising in question. Alicia's face was scrunched in blatant disbelief, and Katie's expression fell slightly. "And why the hell not?" Alicia asked, tone mirroring the incredulity in her expression.

Angelina sighed tiredly, bringing her hand to her cheek and swiping away a few braids. "I just… I don't know, there's so many things on my plate—Apparition tests, pre-NEWT evaluations, Prefect duties, not to mention the whole Quidditch issue."

"What's 'the whole Quidditch issue'?" Katie asked, obviously slightly crestfallen about the fact that Angelina was set on making nothing out of this situation.

Angelina snorted sardonically, switching her gaze to Katie. "Are you kidding me? That's inter-team dating, Oliver would have a right fit—"

"Oh, to hell with fucking Oliver," I growled, finally chiming in to the conversation as my anger violently sparked. "Stupid sod thinks he has all the authority in the bloody world—what's the worst he can do, put you in time-out? He can't afford to lose another two players, not anymore."

"Yeah, it's not like he can really do anything about it," Alicia agreed, feeding of the reason as Angelina shook her head, though a low, simmering sort of anger was building within me now.

Honestly, did Wood just think he had the right to tell everyone what to do? He simply loved governing everyone's life, didn't he—personal life and all. Here he was, messing with my life by taking a huge part of it away from me, and now he standing in the way of Angelina's potential happiness.

So maybe I was blowing his role in her decision a _bit _out of proportion, but it was still a factor, and that irritated me to no end.

"Look, I think I'm just going to take a shower, try and relax a bit before patrolling," Angelina was saying, rubbing her temple wearily as she stood up from her now rumpled bed. "Kats, let me know when you finish your charms, so I can check my answers, yeah?"

Had any other person said this, it would be a pathetic attempt to cheat, though Angelina being her Prefectly self had already completed the assignment yesterday. "Sure thing," Katie responded dully, slumping back into her armchair and picking up her textbook with a newfound flatness.

Alicia, still thoroughly aggravated by the Angelina's indecisive conclusion, simply sighed irritably, collapsing back into her bed with no intention of completing her so-called yoga.

"I'm going to go for a run," I decided flatly, needing a way to let out the stubborn anger that wouldn't seem to leave.

Neither looked up from their respective positions, the briefly celebratory atmosphere of the room totally dead.

"'Kay."

"Have fun."

I rolled my eyes briefly. "Will do," I drawled, pulling off my giant t-shirt and boxer shorts and changing instead into a thin black sweater and running shorts. Grabbing my trainers by the laces and looping a hair tie around my wrist, I gave a brief wave over my shoulder, knowing it was unreturned.

Pulling open the door, I heard a shriek of shock sound from the bathroom—Angelina's second, if less fury-ridden, of the day. "WHO THE HELL USED UP ALL THE HOT WATER!?"

I shut the door behind me with astounding speed.

Descending the staircase rather quickly, I took note of the silence that had spread over the Common Room now that everyone was busy finishing up dinner or working on their assignments, contrasting agreeably with the chaos engulfing it earlier. It was fairly deserted, though remnants of the bedlam lay in scattered pillows and an overturned chair yet to be righted.

Thankful for the absence of people prone to awkward small talk, I climbed through the portrait hole in relative peace, stone floor cool on my sock-clad feet. Tying my messy waves into a tangled knot, I made my way down the similarly deserted hallway, taking the shortcut George had once shown me to the Quidditch Pitch in hopes of remedying my chronic lateness.

The air outside was crisp and cold, making me regret my choice of bottoms as a layer of goosebumps spread over my bare legs. It had been slightly stuffy in the dormitory, stupidly influencing my decision, and I wasn't going to bother with trekking all the way back.

Sighing irritably, I made my way over to the track encircling the darkened pitch, my breath coming out in puffs of smoke before me. The chill was biting, but it was bearable—besides, running was a good a means as any to try and warm-up.

Having slipped on my trainers before leaving the castle, I crouched down to secure the loose laces, tightening the double-knot. I could already feel some of my underlying anger quieting within me, the remedial effects of the night air taking their toll.

Standing up, I brushed my self off, glancing up at the quiet peace of the track and estimating the length of my run. "A few miles," I decided, not wanting anything more than time to simply think things out. Anything more than four always wore me out, so it would a comfortable number below that.

As I eased into the run, my mind ran over the various events of the day, expression remaining relatively focused despite the wide array of emotions. Classes were getting stressful, Wood was being a git, tensions were running high among all of the upperclassmen, Wood was being a prick, Midterm Evals were looming, Wood was being an arse…

After a good ten minutes, some of the stress had slowly been easing away, giving me a chance to dwell on slightly lighter things, such as Fred's little prank. A tiny smirk made its way to my now chapped lips as I replayed the incident, nearly chuckling aloud at the drastic change in Fred's expression.

But just as quickly, the smile curved down into a disheartened frown as I thought of Angelina's latest announcement, wishing the girl would somehow see sense. It was her decision, sure, but all of them saw the furtive smiles hiding beneath the scowls she always sent him—he'd been getting to her the whole year.

Staying in this pro and con mentality for the remainder of her run, I felt my bitter irritation leveling out into a calmer sort of reflection; something a lot more manageable. As I skirted along the final bend, I slowed my pace into a decelerating trot, maintaining this speed the entire way back to the castle doors.

My body was completely numb as I entered the Entrance Hall, heat flooding over me in a welcome rush of goosebumps. Face flushed from the cold and lips chapped and red, I smiled at a few students as I passed, not entirely cleared of all of the week's built-up stress but most definitely calmer.

Retracing my steps through the relatively simple shortcut, I found myself emerging from the portrait hole into the Gryffindor Common Room, pleased to find it just as empty as before. Nothing but the sound of the crackling stone fireplace filled the silence, matching well with the relative calm of my thoughts.

And then I heard the crisp sound of a page turning.

"You know, Wiles, I've already had seven people sign-up for your position." My eyes narrowed darkly—of course it was him. Why would it be anyone else? That would mean Life was on my side, and it was made clear a few days ago that it wasn't.

Glancing over to the fireplace, I saw Wood sprawled out on an armchair by the fire, legs propped up on the coffee table in a careless manner. He was tapping his quill against the hollow of his cheek, face shadowed by the flickering firelight as he frowned speculatively at the parchment before him.

I glowered at the sight—he was purposely making it look like he wasn't paying me any attention. "Well, let's hope one of them can do a Killian Arrow in under six seconds, too," I replied with false pleasantry, naming the precarious dive it took me about a year to fully master with a definitive edge in my voice.

Without glancing up, his face scrunched slightly, wrinkling his nose in infuriatingly casual indifference. "I never much cared for that move—too much risk, too little benefit."

The sense of serenity my run had given me was quickly deteriorating, falling prey to the unspoken smugness lining every curve of his face. "That's funny, you seemed to like it just fine when it won the Ravenclaw match last year," I replied with as agreeable a tone as I could muster, which it turns out wasn't all that agreeable.

He merely scoffed, still totally at ease. "Please—Katie was on fire that night," he affirmed, pausing his tapping to scribble in a correction on his notes. "That game was all her."

This is what gets to me. This is what bloody infuriates me to no end. He discredits absolutely everything I do—any little achievement of mine, hell, any huge achievement of mine, it's sodding dust in his eyes.

"You know what, Wood?" I asked, my tone cold—I'd have enough of the pleasant little game.

"Mm?" he murmured, still not looking up.

My fists clenched slightly at my side, jaw set—it didn't matter if he wasn't listening, I'd say it anyway. "If being off the team means not having to put up with the constant yelling, the constant pressure, the constant 'Wiles you're doing it the wrong way' when I'm trying as hard as I bloody can, all to get one stupid, tiny shred of fucking approval from you," I growled, green irises dangerously dark and serious—I'd honestly had it with him.

"Then I'm bloody well glad to be off it."

A moment of silence filled the room as I merely stood there, glare stony, jaw clenched. To my slight surprise, he finally tore his gaze away from his blasted notes, amber stare dark and unnervingly intent. He simply stared at me for a moment, gaze briefly sweeping over my face before locking onto my eyes. It was entirely inscrutable. I couldn't tell if he was angry, insulted, indifferent, anything, but after a few lingering moments, he glanced back down at his notes.

"You should get some sleep, Andy," he finally murmured, both his tone and his use of my first name startling me slightly. "You look tired."

I lingered there briefly, surveying him with a slight frown as I tried to make sense of his words and expression—was that said with dismissal or concern or what? Deciding to leave it be, I tucked a dark wave behind my ear, turning about and heading toward the staircase.

As I climbed up the steps, however, I sent a final glance his way, brows knit as I ran my gaze over him. He had resumed tapping his quill against his cheek, posture relaxed and expression one of light concentration, but I did catch something just before I looked away.

His eyes were set on the same spot, unmoving.

Not knowing what to make of the whole exchange, I simply stared forward the rest of the way up, reaching the landing and pushing the door open with a distinct sense of tension. This shattered, however, the moment I stepped into the room, halting at the sight of Angelina cross-armed and glowering in the very center of the room, hazel eyes fixed on me.

"_Who the bloody hell takes a two hour long shower!?_"

I sighed, eyes fluttering shut in exhaustion.

What a sodding day.


	7. Never Bite Off More

**Settling the Score**

Never Bite Off More Than You Can Levitate

Occasionally in life, one tends to have these darling little things called epiphanies. They assault you from virtually nowhere, lingering stealthily in the shadows, creeping into your peripheral vision, and then slapping you right smack in the face.

In my case, I mean that statement quite literally. You see, for today's epiphany, I've come to the realization that Katie's dark, lengthy plait is possessed by I-Hate-Andy demons. (Life's been recruiting, it seems.) How else can the vindictive bugger manage to smack me across the face twelve times in the past five minutes?

Every time Kats so much as blinks, her stupid braid swings up into a graceful little arc and sucker-punches me in the face. Sometimes in the nose, sometimes between the eyes, and sometimes it manages to stuff itself in my mouth mid-whisper.

Let me just say that Herbal Essences does _not_taste as scintillating as it smells.

Granted, Katie, Alicia, and I are crammed within a pretty tight spot at the moment—crouched behind a withering, moth-eaten tapestry in the Seventh Floor corridor, shamelessly spying on Angelina and Fred. Why, you ask? Because we're creepy as sodding hell.

"…and you have to make sure to stir three times counterclockwise before adding the Powdered Snare Root…"

Alicia groaned irritably from beside me, the sound muffled by the pale curls lodged all over her face. "Could Angelina _be_any more sodding boring? They both know they're not there to study—drop the blasted act already."

Kat's titled her head to the side slightly, which resulted in her braid Karate-chopping my jugular vein. "I dunno, I think it's rather cute, actually. You know Fred's completely anti-studying, yet he's willing to set that aside just to spend some time with her."

"Yeah, and pay so much attention," Alicia observed sarcastically, peering over my shoulder through a moth-hole in the rotting fabric.

"Oh, he's definitely paying attention," I corrected, stifling my anger with Katie's satanic hairstyle-choice as I followed Alicia's gaze into the classroom across from us. Fred was simply staring at Angelina intently, head cocked to the side, slight smirk on his lips. "Just not to a word she's saying."

It was quite obvious, the way his dark green irises were tracing her lips, taking in their every curve, smile, purse, and pout, yet not bothering with the academic words they were forming. He was observing her as shamelessly as we were observing them, yet there was an underlying sense of attraction in his raffish stare.

"…but make sure you set the burner at 100 degrees Celsius, or else—"

"Angelina."

All three of us snapped out of our bored inconsequence immediately—Fred hadn't uttered a single, solitary word for the past half-hour. We all scrambled forward on our hands and knees to peer out of the largest hole, shoving each other out of the way in stunning displays of feminine grace and etiquette.

"Katie, get your stupid braid out of my face!" I hissed as I once again got assaulted by a lovely series of whacks, though the brunette ignored me completely as she peered out of the hole, wide-eyed.

"Andy, do you think you could do something with that electrocuted hippogriff you call hair?" Alicia snapped in a harsh whisper, annoyed with the fact that she got the worst view of us all—I was behind Kats, Alicia was behind me.

I pulled a Katie and ignored her, scrambling to another, if not slightly smaller, moth-hole and feasting my voyeuristic eyes. Angelina had stopped her didactic droning, reluctantly pulling her gaze up to meet his. I had a view of both of their profiles, which was limiting in certain aspects, but I'd take it.

"You fancy me."

I nearly choked—Fred was certainly taking the forward route.

Angelina's dark eyes widened considerably, obviously finding the comment as unexpected as I had. Her lips parted briefly in fumbling response, her composure cracking slightly as she descended into flustered and unconvincing statements of denial.

"Fred, I—I don't—I mean, obviously, that's just… well, frankly, just… ridiculous to even—"

"It wasn't a question, love," he stated with traces of a half-smile, leaning forward slightly in his seat, copper hair characteristically disheveled. "I've been watching you be bloody boring as hell for the past hour, and I can see it."

Angelina's gaze was glimmering with uncertainty, as if unsure how to proceed in the precarious situation. Beside me, Katie's breath was stilted and excited, biting down on her lip eagerly, while Alicia was murmuring a steady chorus of 'jump his fit bones!' under her breath.

"Hypothetically," Angelina began with a forced calm, though her countenance was still visibly flustered, "if what you're saying wasn't complete bollocks and I did… you know, fancy you… how could you tell?"

Her expression tried to stay speculative and detached; typical logical and collected Angelina, though a nervous earnestness marked her last four words. His smile widened slightly.

"_Hypothetically_," he mocked a bit teasingly, making her eyes narrow slightly, "I noticed that you look even more damn beautiful than you usually do, which means you've put on a bit of make-up." Angelina held her composure rather well, though a distinct flush tinged the line of her cheekbones.

"And _hypothetically_," Fred pressed on, his hand moving closer to hers, "I also noticed that every time you meet my eye, you have to fight back a smile, which is perhaps why you've been avoiding it this whole time."

Her gaze flew down as his hand covered hers, taking in a breath primly to try and keep her calm—bloody hell, she fancied him. I felt a surge of triumph and joy rush through me—all these years…

"And _hypothetically_," he finally murmured, using her hand to pull her closer to him, leaning forward simultaneously, "when I kissed you two days ago, you kissed me back—albeit you came to your senses after a few minutes, but overall," he paused, lips curved though eyes serious, "you fancy me, Angelina; and I sure as hell fancy you."

Their faces were mere inches apart, the tension tangible as Katie began practically convulsing with excitement—she was the world's biggest sodding sap, bar none. My face was glued to the hole in the fabric, and Alicia's wide blue eyes threatened to bulge out of her face as she clung to her tiny hole desperately.

Finally, Angelina found the courage to look up, expression hard.

"Weasley?"

"Yes, Johnson?"

After a moment, she rolled her eyes exasperatedly, smile spilling onto her lips as she muttered, "Bloody hell, I have to do _everything_…" And with that she wrapped her fingers around his tie, closing the microscopic distance between them as his lips captured hers.

"_Bloody_—!"

Katie, physically unable to contain herself, had squealed. Earth-shatteringly. Like really, if I didn't know any better, I'd think a pig had been slaughtered in my left eardrum.

"Kats!" Alicia hissed, furiously pointing to Fred and Angelina as they broke apart, staring out of the door perplexedly.

A deep flush tainted Katie's pale cheeks as she winced, mouthing 'sorry' silently as she tried to move backwards away from the hole, further obscuring herself from the lovebirds' view. However, this proved to be a _wee_bit unproductive—her foot caught on the corner of the aging tapestry.

In a series of painfully loud rips and tears, the dank, heavy fabric came crashing down from it's fixture on the wall, sending the three of us into a chorus of curses and surprised cries. "Argh—I can't see!"

"Forget seeing—I can't bloody breathe!"

"None of us can, you chit!"

"I can't get the stupid thing off!"

"Corners, people—_corners_!"

"How am I supposed to see the damn corners!"

"_We're running out of air! _"

"Feel them out!"

"MUST. HAVE. OXYGE—"

And suddenly we were bathed in blinding light. Well, not blinding, but I have a flair for dramatics. And right in the center of the ethereal glow, white light washing over them like gods, stood an indignant Angelina and an incredibly amused Fred.

"Alright, you lot?" he asked easily, tone laced with humor as he took in our entangled limbs, wild-and-ready-to-kill-for-survival expressions, and utterly disheveled hair.

"If they're alright now, they won't be in a few minutes," Angelina threatened heatedly, eyes full of utter disbelief as they ran over us. They held a hint of 'you-three-are-so-in-for-it' in them.

"We were just… you know… tapestry… sniffing," Katie fumbled out, sending Alicia and I encouraging looks, her eyes full of desperation. She clearly didn't want to ruin Angelina and Fred's moment.

"Er, yeah," I said, trying to play along as I grabbed the end of the mottled tapestry, bringing it up to my nose and, for lack of a better option, taking a tentative sniff. It smelled like Hippogriff dung. "Er, it's a good one, guys!"

"Brilliant!" Katie chirped uncertainly, forcing some sort of smile.

Alicia watched this all with distinct impatience, sighing shortly and rolling her eyes. "Look, we were just making sure that you wouldn't screw this up again—a few nights ago you were all binty about this whole thing, and we knew today would probably be your last shot to stop being so thickheaded."

Katie groaned—Alicia was too blunt for her own bloody good. Angelina looked affronted. "I'm more than capable of making decisions on my own, thanks!" she snapped.

"Well you sure as hell weren't a few days ago!"

"Who are you to tell me if I'm right or wrong—I'm the sodding Prefect!"

"Oh, of course, bring up the stupid Prefect argument!"

"What, you're calling my stupid, now?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Johnson, I wasn't before, but if you're going to resort to that than yeah, I am!"

I glanced over at Katie, who was always the mediator in these types of situation (I was usually a bit too amused to come off as sincere), and she tossed me a defeated look, knowing it was all on her shoulders—

"Calm down, love," Fred suddenly murmured into Angelina's ear, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and gently pulling her against his chest. "You're both overreacting, it's nothing worth fighting over."

Angelina, still scowling angrily, relaxed slightly into his grip, some of the stiffness leaving her posture. The motion was both unexpected and endearing. Usually she would've just bitten his head off and stalked away, or pressed on with her relentless argument; but this instant kind of ameliorating effect was unprecedented.

Even Kats, who could probably soothe bloody Voldemort on a good day, usually took ten to fifteen minutes to calm the girl down. However, with those few words, Angelina's breathing was slowing to a steadier level, her anger dwindling into annoyance before my eyes.

"C'mon, let's go get some lunch, yeah? We've been studying for hours," he persuaded, to which she finally nodded irritably, eyes moving away from Alicia's.

"Fine, let's go," she muttered, allowing him to steer her along as they wandered down the hallway. After a good few yards, he glanced over his shoulder, tossing the three of us a mischievous wink.

I couldn't help but grin—good ol' Fred.

"Oh, I do love myself sometimes," Alicia chirped merrily, making Katie's gaze snap over to hers.

"Don't even let me start with you—you were being a right prat!" Katie scolded, eyes narrowing in disapproval. "Be happy that it just so happened to work out nicely."

Alicia rolled her eyes, scoffing. "Please—it wouldn't have worked out any other way. If we had all been normal, she would've stayed behind to yell at us and get all huffy; but this way, she's still with Fred, letting him comfort her and thus solidifying what I predict to be a very happy relationship." She nodded decisively after her diagnosis, pert smile in place.

I stared at her for a second, brow raised. "So you planned that?"

"Basically."

"Hot Merlin, we like to intrude," Katie observed, shaking her head briefly.

A conspiring grin crept over my lips. "But hell, do we do it well."

Alicia and Katie both smirked—credit where credit was due, after all.

"So, I don't know about you lot, but I'm starving—and sick of this stupid blanket!" Alicia grumbled as she shoved the remains of the suffocating tapestry off of her, getting to her feet and brushing her shorts off.

"Agreed," Katie said as she followed suit, flattening down the chaotic wisps that had come loose from her killer braid.

I, however, simply sighed. "Can't," I replied, straightening my clothes but not bothering with my hair—it was way beyond repair at this point. "I got an owl from McGonagall—says I'm supposed to meet her in about fifteen minutes for some Banquet Planning Joy."

Katie wrinkled her nose, lips curling. "Sounds fun."

"Yeah, super," I said dryly.

"Does that mean quality time with Oliver?" Alicia asked, eyes glimmering with amusement.

"Unfortunately," I replied, chewing my lip. Honestly, I was actually a bit anxious about that. I don't know why, really, since we've had plenty of odd, awkward moments before, but my nerves were a little on-edge.

We hadn't talked since that strange moment in the Common Room, and it was making things feel like they were hovering, unsaid. I had yet to decipher what his words had meant, so I still didn't know how to react to them.

Trying to dispel these thoughts, I sighed, causing an array of dark curls to lodge themselves in my face. I tried pushing a hand through them, but my fingers just got stuck midway in the mess of tangles. Why do I even bother?

"Well, have fun then," Alicia said with a grin as she swiveled about, walking toward the staircases with Kats, undoubtedly discussing Fred and Angelina.

"Will do," I muttered, glaring as a loose curl once again fell right between my eyes. Giving my jeans a final brush over, I began to venture to McGonagall's office, wondering what my step-mum would do if I shaved my head.

* * *

"Alright, how exactly are we going to do this?"

That was the very question Wood and I had been stumbling upon for the past half hour or so, casting about rather fruitlessly for ideas on how to plan the dreaded Gryffindor Banquet. If I had thought anything was going to be the least bit different between us after last night's encounter, I was sorely mistaken. Wood was as surly as ever.

He sighed irritably in response, maple eyes swimming with annoyance and impatience—neither of us was thrilled to be there. Knowing that we'd never take the initiative to get together ourselves, McGonagall took the time out to make a schedule for our meetings, assigning us two hour planning blocks ever Sunday, Wednesday, and Friday.

That meant that for the next three weeks—two hours a day, three days a week, and certain holidays—Wood and I would be cooped up within some stuffy old classroom, bickering. Lovely woman, that Minnie.

"Look, rolling your eyes like a stroppy cow isn't going to solve anything, alright?" I snapped, irritated by the fact that he was making me do all of the brainstorming as if it were entirely _my _fault.

"Yeah, and asking the same question seventy sodding times is going to solve _so_much," he replied sarcastically, leaning back into his chair with a bored, dismissive air.

My eyes narrowed, shooting him a distinctly annoyed look as I plucked my quill off the table, bringing it to the empty piece of parchment before me and letting it hover purposelessly. After a moment, I simply scribbled 'Banquet Ideas' on the top of the page, underlining it rather crookedly, much to my annoyance.

"Okay, so—"

"Look, Wiles," Wood interrupted, raising his hands up in resignation, "you're a girl of sorts—planning parties and whatnot is your sort of thing. Strict no-bloke zone."

I raised a brow, expression cool. "A girl 'of sorts,' Wood? If you're going to try to get yourself off the hook, keyword being 'try', you might want to refrain from insulting me in the process."

He rolled his eyes at my crisp tone, exhaling irritably. "Oh, shove off and quit acting like you're insulted," he responded, angling his chair back onto its two back legs, "what I meant is you're not a girly girl, but go ahead and take it as an insult, hell would probably freeze over if you didn't."

My eyes narrowed as I twiddled the quill about in my fingers, expression taking on a grumpy tinge. "Yeah, well... whatever," I grumbled dismissively, refocusing my attention on the empty parchment before me and sighing. "Alright, well how about we look at some past banquets for examples?"

He shot me a pointed look, eyes flat and dismissive. "You're kidding, right? What's there to look at?"

I glanced down at the parchment, mindlessly chewing my bottom lip—he had a point. All there had been in the past was a few boring speeches, mediocre food, the occasional slideshow, and every now and then a bit of stiff, awkward dancing. Nothing to really go off of.

I sighed irritably, slumping back against my seat and returning his flat gaze. "Well, what do you suggest? I mean, it's not like we can make it much better than last year's—"

I paused as his gaze took on a spark of challenge, the very corners of his lips lifting ever so slightly. I decided almost immediately that I wasn't too fond of that look, despite the fact that it made him look oddly se—well, never mind.

"Why not?"

My face crumpled slightly with confusion. "Why not what?"

"Why can't we make it better than last year's, and the year before that, and the year before that?"

My brow furrowed, eyes staring at him with blooming perplexity. "What do you—"

"Hear me out, Wiles," he interjected, straightening out his chair with a heavy clatter as he leaned forward, face taking on an inexplicably conspiring look. "All of the past years, the banquets have been right miserable, yeah?"

"Yeah…"

"And everyone's always on about how maybe one day, someone will actually make it bearable, yeah?"

"Yeah…"

"But everyone says it with a tinge of 'oh-that'll-never-happen' in their voice, yeah?"

"Stop ending your bloody sentences with yeah!"

A look of confusion briefly swept over his face, though it was promptly replaced by the all-too familiar ambitious look his features took on whenever he was about to attempt a dangerous save. "Well… why don't we make it happen?"

I stared at him, confused. "You mean make the banquet… _fun_?"

His smirk widened into a conspiring grin. "Not fun—bloody fantastic."

My brows steadily furrowed, head easing into a slow shake. "That's like… not possible, Wood – the very foundations of earth would self-destruct if a Gryffindor banquet were ever actually _good_."

"See, that's what everybody thinks," he corrected, eyes taking on a distinct glow, "but what if we're the ones to finally break the stereotype and make it a night everyone will remember?"

I simply stared at him, unable to fully comprehend the enormity of his words. "But… I mean… why?"

It was a simple question, but legitimate all the same—the amount of work it would require to make the Gryffindor banquet exciting, let alone bearable, was gargantuan. They'd need to up the decorations, the music, the guest speakers, the food, and the overall hype: everything.

He merely shrugged, leaning back into his seat easily. "Dunno—if we're stuck putting this rubbish together, we might as well make it worthwhile."

He had a point—if we were going to have to organize it regardless of choice, it'd probably be more bearable if we actually got into it. Besides, we were both part of the group that was always the first to complain about how terrible the banquets were; that should theoretically mean that we know how to make it better.

"You realize how much work that'll take, don't you?"

"So what?" he responded, challenge glimmering in his gaze. "We're both used to work—Merlin knows I've ridden you hard enough during—"

His words trailed off as their double-meaning hit, striking both of us at the same time and rendering me in a state of momentary shock. Images that I had great difficulty handling barged into my mind unannounced, briefly seizing hold of my thoughts without any sort of invitation.

Images that I did not want roaming around my mind. Most of the time. _All of the time_, I mentally snapped, disgusted by my own hormonal brain.

"…during Quidditch," he finally clarified, tone low and even. "I've been… hard on you during Quidditch," he changed subtly, having briefly searched for a different phrase.

"I got it," I replied a bit awkwardly, internally rolling my eyes. I mean, obviously I knew he didn't mean it sexually, since Merlin knows that would never happen.

"I never said it would," he replied with a hint of indignation, making my eyes narrow briefly before widening into round circles—had I really sodding said that out loud? "Besides, I don't see why you would be so quick to deny, since you'd have gotten the good end of the bargain," he huffed.

My stare went from wide-eyed to slitted in about three milliseconds: so that's how he wanted to play this, then? "Oh, _really_?"

"Really."

"You think so, do you?"

"Obviously."

I scoffed, eyes veering into a disgusted roll. "You are so bloody full of yourself—I'll have you know that I wouldn't get within a foot of you if my entire life depended on it."

"Oh, I highly doubt that," he stated smugly, making my lips purse.

"And why's that?" I asked coolly.

"Because you already have."

At this I snorted, derision lining the inflections in my tone. "Have I?"

"Yes."

"Explain."

"Is that an order?"

"Did you hear a please?"

"I'd sure like to."

"Pity."

"Agreed."

"Would you stop avoiding the sodding question and answer me, damn it?" I demanded, growing increasingly more frustrated with every passing second.

He cocked his head to the side briefly, as if contemplating. "I dunno, Wiles; I'd really like that please…"

Gaze tapering humorlessly, my eyes flattened. "Please."

His lips lifted into a smug little half-smirk. "Well, if I recall correctly, you had me pinned down to your bed just recently—"

"Oh, grow up," I interjected, rolling my eyes dismissively, "I was trying to get my diary back; that had nothing to do with getting near _you_!"

"I dunno, you seemed rather pleased with yourself…"

"Because I ended up getting it back, genius," I snapped testily, folding my arms across my chest.

He smirked darkly, mimicking my posture and crossing his arms. "Don't act like straddling me wasn't a convenient little plus."

I grimaced, willing myself to feel some sort of nausea and growing irritated by the fact that I was coming up short. "Try a gigantic minus."

He snorted derisively. "Please, love—far better girls have been deprived of that experience. Consider yourself lucky."

For a moment, I couldn't help but feel the slightest bit slapped—_far better girls_? But it came and it went without very much consequence, and my wry, cynical expression returned almost instantly. "And by that I suppose you mean tarty bints like Fiona Price?"

His brow raised, making me slightly regret using such a specific name. "You know Fiona?"

"Yeah, we go way back," I replied sarcastically.

"You know, she actually mentioned you the other day," he commented, posture once again growing casual and slightly conspiring, as if he was carefully plotting something in his head. "Said it was a pity you were off the team, given your talent and whatnot."

My irritation gave way to slight confusion as my brow furrowed skeptically—the last thing she'd seemed back in the Common Room was sympathetic. "She said _that_?"

"Yeah," he affirmed, half-smile dark, "but I told her not to worry, since there was plenty of fresh talent out there just waiting to replace you." He shrugged, easing back into his seat comfortably, lazy smirk infuriating. "Who knows, maybe they'll even outdo you."

"Maybe," I gritted out coolly, anger swirling lowly beneath the surface.

"Maybe," he confirmed, crossing his arms behind his head casually and pulling them up into a languid stretch. "She's quite fit, Fiona is," he mumbled through a yawn, just loud enough for me to hear.

I couldn't help but snort at this. "Yeah, if you're into that sort."

He raised a brow, intrigued. "And what sort is that?"

I cocked my head to the side. "Well, let's see, shall we? The sort that takes about three hours getting ready for things, the sort that looks like she'd rather commit suicide than get near anything that earthworms could potentially live in, the sort who—"

"Makes other girls jealous?" he ventured, lips curling at the corners—Merlin, he was bloody insufferable today.

"Oh, as if," I replied, wondering where these constant accusations were coming from, "do I really look like the sort who cares about that rubbish?" I fingered the long, dark tumble of loose curls trailing down my shoulders, pointing out their messiness. "That's afraid to get a little dirty?"

"I dunno, Wiles," he replied, leaning forward slightly, eyes glimmering suggestively, "are you afraid to get a little dirty?"

My heart inexplicably quickened for a split second, his expression making my skin feel a bit warm. Where the hell had _that_come from? After a moment, I managed to merely scoff disgustedly at the innuendo, shaking off the strange sensation dancing over my skin. "Dream on, Wood."

"Likewise, love."

For a moment we just sat in silence, staring at the other with varying expressions of critical speculation. This conversation had a far more prominent sexual undercurrent that any of our previous arguments had had, rendering it more than slightly puzzling.

For the second time this week, Wood had me confused.

"So… we're making this banquet good, then?" I asked, breaking the slightly tense silence and raising a brow.

He smirked slightly, his chair once again balancing on two legs, "Yeah, I suppose we are."

I stared at him for a moment, holding his ambitious gaze uncertainly before simply giving way to a sigh, slouching my head against my palm. "Brilliant."


	8. Well Behaved Women

**Settling the Score**

Well-Behaved Women Seldom Make Quidditch Teams

Hands grasping either side of the porcelain sink with faltering resolve, I stared straight into my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Green irises speckled with flecks of yellow stared back at me, black pupils glittering with anxious indecision.

My dark curls were in their usual disarray around my face, loosely waved in the areas that I kept running a nervous hand through. My cheekbones, nowhere near as modelesque as Angelina's sharp features but still nicely angled, held an anxious tinge of pallor.

Try-outs were in exactly fifteen minutes.

_Fifteen fucking minutes. _

It takes five minutes alone to trek all the way to the Quidditch pitch, and five to change and get into the proper mentality for a try-out—it'd been a good week or so since I'd even been on a broom. This left me with exactly five minutes to make a huge decision: to try out, or not to try out.

_That _is the sodding question.

Earlier that day, I'd been accosted by Fred and George, both claiming that their little scheme was still in business—"all you have to do is show up, we swear." Knowing that this would undoubtedly entail something underhanded, against the rules, and more than likely illegal, I was somewhat skeptical.

Now, stuck in an anxious rut of indecision, I was more conflicted than ever.

"Quidditch or dignity; dignity or Quidditch?" I asked my reflection with a wry sort of cynicism, finding it ridiculous that I was actually being forced to choose between the two—they used to go hand in hand. My pride and confidence were heavily rooted within Quidditch, and losing one seemed like losing the other.

"Merlin, is it even worth it?" I murmured, caught by the thought—but then an image of Wood's smug, ungrateful little face clouded over my mind, making my expression twist into a scowl.

If it meant avoiding that particularly infuriating expression, then it sure as hell was.

But then again…

No, it was—end of story.

Yet still…

Argh, stop it—no.

But what about…

"_ARGH!_" I growled in frustration, eyes flying shut as arguments and counter-arguments washed over me, swallowing me in a wave of conflicting feelings and images. Pros and cons battled viciously within my head, keeping my decision in a game of tug-of-war that was eating up my time.

…the electrifying roar of the crowd in my deafened ears…

…his stupid, sodding little smirk…

…the thrill of spotting a faint glimmer of gold in the hazy distance…

…the overwhelming feeling of never being taken seriously…

…the humming power of knowing the game is entirely in my hands…

…the building fury of getting criticism in place of credit…

The emotions running through me were oddly electric at that moment, a mottled mix of renewed anger, frustration, anxiety, and a renegade glimmer of excitement. This decision, while paling miserably in comparison to various others people had to make every day, could do one of two things.

It could signal the return of my old life, or it could give me a new one. Drastic and melodramatic, sure, but still true. I wish I could say that some sport didn't define so much of me, that it was just another pastime, like football—but it wasn't.

It's what I love to do; it's my talent. There are plenty of things I'm sodding disastrous at—I think I got a Troll-minus on my last Astronomy paper—but Quidditch simply isn't one of them. It's the one thing I'm really bloody good at, and now it was all being taken away.

Taken away by some smarmy, arrogant, fascist little—

"Oh, _sod it all to hell_!" I growled aloud, knocking Alicia's shampoo bottle off the rim of the sink as I reached for an elastic. Wrenching my hair into a messy ponytail atop my head and grabbing my trainers by the laces, I swiveled away from the unhelpful mirror, shoving the door wide open. "I'm going to play some sodding Quidditch!"

* * *

This was just perfect.

Simply perfect. Like really, look up 'perfection' in the dictionary and you'll find a picture of me and Wood's little girlfriend Fiona hovering in the air together, awaiting instructions from the insufferable prick himself. If you look closely, you can marvel at the fact that I'm dressed in the traditional Quidditch kit—a ratty shirt and black sweatpants—whereas Fiona's clad in a tight little terry cloth dress. In all fairness, it does have athletic stripes running down each fluffy little side, and nothing says 'athlete' like athletic stripes.

To add to this picturesque little scenario, zoom in on the expression splayed over Wood's face—the distinctly smug one that tells me that he thinks he's won. Lip curled into a crooked little half-smirk, brow raised pointedly… it's all great bloody fun. Then throw in Fiona's tinkling little laugh at Wood's serious moments—moments where he acts like he's supposed to as captain instead of an immature wanker—which cause him to smile and interrupt the whole sodding try-out to get in a good bit of flirting.

Yeah. Mix that all into a bundle of joy and you get the basic gist of my scenario. Oh, and of course the snide little comments like 'Wasn't she kicked off the team? Why's she trying out?' and 'Some people are just desperate, I guess…' from the various onlookers on the stands were really heartening. Especially since those used to be the same people who'd scream their heads off whenever I emerged victorious from a characteristically risky move. Fair-weather fans—you've got to love them.

They were nothing compared to the Slytherins, however. The entire Slytherin team was lined up on the front row of the bleachers, expressions curled into wicked sneers, calling out demeaning things as if they were getting paid by the insult I hadn't even spared them a glance upon entering—I knew the routine, they sometimes did this during practices. A single look feeds their fire.

Fiona, clearly new to this whole atmosphere, shot them snooty looks every few minutes, flipping her hair in a show of supposed superiority. I wondered if she was aware of the fact that this was a House where having a superiority complex was a pre-requisite—the flip probably wasn't all that effective. It was, however, making them rowdier, which was distinctly aggravating. All she had to do was ignore them, and they would keep to a tolerable hum—otherwise, they would try to get inside your head. It didn't much matter for her, however, because I was clearly the target of their jeers.

"Oi, Wiles—maybe if you sleep with Flint, he'll let you try-out for our team too!"

"Go home, Wiles—you were kicked off, have a little dignity!"

"She's a Gryffindor, mate—she didn't have any to begin with!"

"Oi, don't screw this up! You've already been rejected once!"

"Twice would just be pathetic!"

"Just let the blonde take over, she's probably a better shag anyway—right Wood?"

At the very mention of her, Fiona's head whipped around, eyes narrowed and nose wrinkled into a snotty look that was about as intimidating as a paraplegic earthworm. My eyes rolled to the back of my head as the Slytherin chorus grew louder—why couldn't she just use a brain cell and figure out not to acknowledge them?

"Hey, er—Fiona," I began, tired of having to deal with consequences of her moronic actions, "it's generally better if you just ignore them, 'coz usually even looking at them makes them louder."

Her head swiveled around to face mine, expression frosty. "I don't know what things you did to make them say those things about you, but I don't deserve to be called a whore."

My diplomatic expression flattened entirely, eyebrows shooting up. "What _things _I did?"

"Well, obviously you did something. And I simply won't tolerate taking any of the heat for it—for all I know, you really are a tart," she snipped, making my eyes narrow into slits of anger—this was getting _ridiculous_.

"_Look_, you little—"

"Alright, it looks like no one else is coming, so we might as well start," Wood's voice interjected from below, his expression holding a tinge of confusion as he glanced around the field. It really was a bit odd—dozens of people had signed their names off to try out, and yet it was only the two us.

"Anyone seen the Weasley's?" he added as an afterthought, glancing over to the bench where the rest of the team was seated, observing the try-out like they were supposed to. Everyone's gaze instantly averted, and Katie and Angelina started mumbling excuses at the same time. Alicia, always the loudest, spat out something about a detention, which seemed to appease Wood enough to simply let it go for the time being.

"Alright, well let's get started—I want you both to take a few warm-up laps, nothing too fast or fancy, just something to get your blood flowing," he instructed, though I had already veered my broom into motion halfway through the command. It was something we did before nearly every practice—I didn't need it explained. Nothing strenuous, just an easy warm-up, no big—

"Wiles!"

I pulled my broom back shortly, rearing into a halt at the sound of the barking tone—the one that implied I had done something wrong. Surprise, surprise. "_What_?"

"I haven't told you to go yet—listen for instructions!" he scolded, making annoyance flood my tapered gaze. Honestly, if it wasn't a sodding race, it didn't matter when I started. I just wanted to get this thing over with. Eyes rolling briefly, I swung my broom back over to the starting point, righting it sharply next to Fiona's and tossing him a somewhat impudent look that clearly stated 'Satisfied?'

He gave a nod of approval, gesturing to the field with a simple wave. "Alright, go."

I scowled as Fiona took off beside me, holding his gaze with my own. I could feel it growing steely with aggravation, slowly entering the realm of fiery, though I kept my tongue in check.

The tiniest hint of a smirk pulled up half of his mouth as he raised a brow. "Problem, Wiles?"

I held his stare for a moment longer before releasing an angry scoff, muttering a barely audible 'prick' and shooting off into motion. I could practically hear his smirk behind me.

The sensation of the bitter wind whipping against my face was a welcome one—it'd been far too long since I'd been able to fly. Even though a week didn't seem like a long time, my whole body seemed to respond to the sensation, as if fulfilling a craving it didn't even know it was having. As the cold slapped against my cheeks and numbed my hands, I felt old senses reawakening, and through my aggravation I could feel a sense of focus slowly taking over. There was nothing like flying through sharp November air to instantly straighten your thoughts—the bite of the temperature shocked you into complete concentration.

By the time I'd completed a good five laps, I forced myself to slow to a halt, lithely maneuvering back to the starting point with a better sense of focus and purpose. I was here to do what I loved to do—I was here to play Quidditch, and nothing more. Remnants of irritation were still swirling beneath the surface, but the feeling was nowhere near as overwhelming as it had been earlier. I righted my broom in front of Wood with a neutral expression, waiting patiently for further instruction.

"Okay—now we're going to practice a bit of technique. Playing seeker takes cunning and impressive flying, so let's begin with a few feints." Wood took a few step backs and crossed his arms, cocking his head to the side contemplatively. "Grizzle Feint," he ordered.

Fiona instantly flew over to the other end of the field, using quite a bit of speed in doing so, which was a rookie mistake—you save the speed for the dive. I hovered in place, however, eyes locked on Wood's with a cool expression.

"You didn't say go."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "_Go_."

A hint of a smile pulled at my lips, satisfied with his expression. Maybe two could play at this game.

* * *

"Wiles, damn it!"

"_What_!?"

"I'm still talking!"

"Brilliant—and?"

"You can't start the bloody exercise until I done explaining it!"

"I already know what a Freslow Manuever is, Wood—I'm the one that told you about it!"

"Yeah, and no matter how many times I tell you, you always drop your left shoulder too far!"

"No, I don't!"

"You were already dropping it!"

"I haven't even started the move!"

"Just get down here!"

"You criticize me before I've even done anything!"

"_Now_!"

I exhaled sharply in intense aggravation, growling as I veered my broom around and flew back to the bleachers for what must've been the twenty-fifth time that day. Honestly, this was just getting ridiculous—I knew how to do all of these things and he sodding knew it, and yet he still bloody insisted on nit-picking everything. My hand placement, my speed inflections, the angle of my broom—_everything_! And his stupid bint of a girlfriend was the blandest, most unexciting flier on the sodding continent, but she had her hands in the right place, so gold fucking star, Fiona!

This is why I knew a try-out would be frustrating and stupid: it would be me trying to fill in my own bloody shoes. He took his time explaining absolutely everything in great detail, and after two hours, I was beyond restless. And of course, sodding Fiona wouldn't stop acknowledging the stupid Slytherins, so they were louder and more boisterous than ever. It was getting harder and harder to stay focused, and getting interrupted by Wood's criticism every five seconds wasn't helping at all.

"This is complete bollocks," I muttered to myself as I straightened out next to Fiona, who was observing me closely and taking it upon herself to be the exact opposite—respectful, compliant, and steadfast. "Complete and utter bollocks."

"What was that, Wiles?"

I tensed immediately at his unbearably commanding tone—what the hell was this, I wasn't four years old. I glanced up at his sergeant-like expression, demanding of an answer, and I couldn't help but scowl. "I said that this was all complete and utter _bollocks_."

He raised a brow. "Really?"

"Really!"

"Then why even bother?"

"I don't bloody know, Wood, why don't you tell me!? You're the one making me do this in the first place!"

"_Making _you? I gave you a choice, Wiles."

"No, you didn't!" I cried, feeling myself growing irrational as that familiar overwhelming feeling swept over me. "You really think giving up Quidditch for the sake of some stupid power struggle is even an _option _for me?"

"It sure as hell seemed to be an option a week ago."

I threw my head back in frustration, wanting to scream at the fact that such an inconsequential, rash decision was constantly being thrown back at me, haunting my actions. "I wasn't serious, Wood—I just wanted a damn apology!"

"Well, maybe this will teach you to rethink your words," he growled, his own temper starting to flare at the insolence in my tone. "In fact, here's a tip: next time you want to be treated fairly, don't call your captain an unreasonable prick."

"Next time you want your Seeker to cooperate, don't bloody act like one!"

The Slytherins were practically screaming with jeers and laughter in the background, fueling the spiraling sense of overwhelming frustration growing around me. I could feel Fiona's frosty eyes boring holes through me, burning cold with satisfaction, and I had to close my eyes for a second to block everything out. "Look, I love this game," I finally gritted out, sick of this never-ending battle and wondering if it was really even worth it anymore. "And it's for that reason and that reason _alone_ that I'm here right now, putting up with this ridiculous try-out and those bloody idiotic Slytherins that _you_," I glared angrily at Fiona, "keep encouraging."

I heard the howls increase tenfold from below as a low, throbbing pain began pounding in my head, adding to the feeling of a pending explosion building within my body. "So don't for one second think it's easy for me to swallow my pride and undermine my own resolutions and come out here, because it's not," I growled, eyes trained steadily on Wood's, "it's actually really fucking hard. But I love playing, I love flying, and with the exception of _you_," I spat, "I love this team. So I really have no other choice."

His expression was entirely inscrutable. Similar to the way it had been in the common room a few days earlier, yet somehow different. Harder. Stonier. Something about it was distinctly more intimidating, and the silence that followed only augmented this. "I'm the captain of this team, Wiles," he spoke after a moment, voice low and even, "and I'm going to be for the rest of the season. Since that's clearly going to be a problem for you, since I'm _clearly_ going to be the weak spot in your commitment, the person that makes you think you have a right to quit at your little fancy and leave an _entire fucking team behind_—then I'm going to ask you to get off the field."

His eyes were frighteningly serious. "_Now_."

I blinked.

And suddenly it was all just too much. Way too bloody much. The Slytherins' jeers howling in my ears, Wood's livid gaze burning into mine, Fiona's barely hidden little smile ringing with satisfaction, unexpected tears forming in my eyes—everything around me spiraled together into more than I could possibly take, and I needed to get away.

Fast.

Without so much as a warning, I jerked my broom to the side, cutting a dangerously sharp turn away from the field. Stubborn, stupid tears were blurring my vision as I barreled forward, speed reckless and irresponsibly fast.

"Andy!"

I heard Katie's voice sound faintly from behind me as I streaked past the stands, motion directed toward the Black Lake—I didn't know why, but I needed the tranquility of the frigid water. It was far too cold for people to be lounging by the edges, and I just wanted to get away from anything and everything. Trees began flying past me as the freezing wind mingled with the burning tears in my eyes, drying them before they could fall. I flipped and turned to avoid the sharp branches jutting into my path, more concerned with getting away than with safety.

I didn't know why Wood's words had made everything reach a sudden breaking point in me, but they had. A dry, choked sort of sob escaped from my throat, and I just felt like bloody crying. I was overwhelmed and disoriented, and all I wanted was for everything to _stop_.

A fair few scratches decorated my arms as I finally cleared the patch of dry forest, the bitter underbrush below me giving way to crystalline grey water. I soared over the lake with the same reckless abandonment that Wood always maligned me for. Something about moving at the same speed as my thoughts gave me a strange sense of balance—and balance was something I desperately needed. There, in the freezing cold of the winter air, hovering above the glassy surface of the Black Lake, I felt like I could finally think.

And so I did.

For two hours, I skirted the entire expanse of the lake. I flew across it, around it, high above it, inches away from it, grazed my fingers along it, let the tips of my hair trail the surface—everything. And after two hours, I could finally call myself calm. Tense, yes, but still calm. My heart had slowed to a slow beat within my chest, my thoughts were floating instead of racing in my head, and my eyes were completely void of stubborn tears. I was collected, but that didn't mean I wasn't content.

I was simply alright.

My fingers were numb as I reached for the door to the Entrance Hall, my overall appearance ragged and windswept. The warmth of the room flooded over me in a welcome rush, soaring through my knotted hair and flushed, tear-stained cheeks. I wandered slowly through the corridors, looking like absolute hell on earth with my puffy eyes and wind-chapped lips. A little boy screamed when I walked into the Common Room, but I didn't pay him any mind. I just ambled my way up the wooden staircase, tired and numb and craving a hot shower.

The second I pushed the door open, three heads sporting various expressions instantly shot up: an anxious brunette, a relieved head of braids, and an absolutely livid blonde. Alicia was, predictably, the first to speak.

"Where the _hell _were you!?" By speak, I mean yell.

"Oh, thank Merlin you're alright," Katie breathed out, the furrow of worry relaxing slightly from her expression.

"Kats was about to have a sodding heart-attack—you can't just fly off like that, Andy," Angelina scolded, though concern was the primary emotion in her voice.

They all began speaking at once, overrunning each other's sentences and trying to get there message across, and quite frankly, I really didn't want to hear any of it. It was late, I was tired, and I was cold.

I wanted quiet.

Without saying a word, I simply walked over to the bathroom, ignoring the sounds of their loud, blurring voices as I slammed the door shut. I could hear a momentary silence seize hold of the other side of the door, but at this point, I really didn't give a damn. I simply wrenched the showerhead on to its fullest, stripped off my damp clothes, and stepped into the heat of the scalding water.

No more Quidditch. No more Wood.

End of story.

**A/N:** _Sorry for the astronomical wait – college apps and interviews have taken over my life. I know this chapter is nowhere near as humorous and light as the other ones, but I knew this try-out was going to go disastrously from the beginning, so I didn't want to break that for a bit of humor. The next chapter will be far less boring and back to it's usual zing, so don't be disillusioned!_

_And of course, Happy Thanksgiving! Ingest a lot of Tryptophan! (Woot for Bio nerds)._


	9. The Calm Before the Broomcloset

**Settling the Score**

The Calm Before the Broomcloset

"I'm trying to study."

"I noticed."

"Then do you think you could stop?"

"Stop what?"

"Don't be thick, Fred."

"I haven't the foggiest what you're talking about, Johnson."

"Oh, I doubt—_FRED_!"

"Problem, love?"

Angelina set her Potions book down with an exasperated huff, swiveling around to glare at the redhead sprawled beneath her. Fred merely blinked innocently in response. Rolling her eyes at the deceitful expression, she turned back around and resettled herself into his arms, gaze dropping back down to the pages of her book. His eyes darkened with mischief as he waited a few moments, then stealthily lowered his lips to the exposed patch of skin right below her ear. The instant he made contact, brushing them lightly against her neck in a teasing sort of kiss, she let out a growl of frustration.

"Weasley!"

"Oh, c'mon, love—you've been studying for two hours," he griped, his whole face scrunching in boredom.

"Yeah, for a _huge_ test, Fred! Doing badly would jeopardize my entire Potions grade," she snapped, attempting to twist her way out of his grip as he playfully clung on to her, "and thanks to you, I've barely even covered half the chapter." He merely rolled his eyes, refusing to let her go by tightening his arms around her waist. She squirmed around more fiercely, seemingly doubling her efforts, but the roguish grin was already curling at the ends of his lips: she wasn't going anywhere.

"Fred!"

"Just take a quick break…"

"_No._"

"Please?"

"No!"

"Angelina…"

She hesitated as he caught her gaze, staring at her with a devastatingly persuasive expression: lips curved slightly upward, copper hair ruffled, eyes suggestive. "I…"

"It'll be a short break," he murmured, drawing her closer and capturing her lips in a light kiss, "ten minutes tops, I swear."

"Liar," she said.

"Guilty," he replied in between kisses, causing her to smile briefly against his mouth.

I watched this all unfold in the Common Room with a distinct look of nausea plastered onto my face. Don't get me wrong, I'm sodding ecstatic about the fact that Angelina and Fred finally got together and everything, but in my present state of cynicism, PDA is the last thing I want to see, from Angelina and Fred or otherwise. Apparently, however, I'm alone in this sentiment: everyone else seems to be swooning over Hogwarts' newest It Couple, clinging to their every little move like they're a soap-opera. I mean, if you think about it, they kind of sound like one: a love/hate feud between the Future Head Girl and the Resident Prankster? One makes the rules, one breaks them?

Boom: _love_.

To be honest, it's kind of a weird feeling to hear everyone talking about them—a bit like realizing we've turned into the people we used to hear things about when we were still new to Hogwarts. I remember when I was a first year, the sixth years were the class that everyone always gossiped about. There were always wild rumors circulating about parties and drama and lies, but by far the two most talked about people were Juniper Street and Dominic Hale.

Juniper was considered one of the most striking girls to ever set foot in Hogwarts—tall and curvy with dark hair and even darker, exotically cut eyes—and she was also considered one of the most, well, _accommodating_. 'Take a ride on Juniper Street' was the slogan, I believe. I don't think I fully understood it at eleven. Dominic was a complete and utter playboy, and it wasn't because of his looks. He was a decently attractive guy, sure, but there was another aspect of him that probably gave him most of his star appeal: he's considered the best Quidditch player Hogwarts has ever seen.

_Ever._

His statistics are legend—Seeker since first year, Captain since third, seven House Cups, cut the existing record for catching the snitch in half, broke his own records several times, invented moves now emulated by Pro-teams… the bloke was a monster. And a complete prick. And hence, the vapid rollercoaster of Juniper and Dominic's relationship was anything anyone ever talked about—who cheated on who, who lied to who, who got drunk and slept with who—people were obsessed. It was somewhat engrossing, I'll admit it, but we all grew out of it pretty fast. Come third year, our own inter-house dramas and scandals started to form, and like clockwork, a new batch of fresh faces came along to eagerly watch the show.

It was just weird to think that now, Angelina and Fred, two people that are so normal and everyday to me, are one of the hottest new stories to follow. It's so trivializing, gossip is—half the rubbish about Dominic and Juniper wasn't even true. Who knows what the hell they're saying about these two? Or why I'm even taking the time out to care, for that matter. I just feel like being a bitter cow about everything. Apologies in advance.

"…be done in about an hour, and we can do whatever you want, alright?"

By the time I'd pulled myself out of my thoughts, Angelina had managed to free herself from Fred's death grip and was planting a kiss on his scowling forehead. She badly repressed a smile at the childish look on his face, grabbing her precious Potions book and ruffling his hair. "Later, Andy," she said, her voice a bit more tentative then it usually was, and I scowled: everyone had been treating me like a pregnant woman on steroids since last night's little episode. It's like they thought I was going to snap and kill everyone at any second. Yesterday I walked into the dormitory and found Alicia, Angelina, and Kats huddled together and whispering confidentially, and naturally they went silent the second they saw me.

It was a bit on the aggravating side, but at the very least, I appreciated the space to think.

Fred sighed as he watched Angelina exit the portrait hole, leaning back against the couch with a look of half-hearted annoyance. "That's what I get for dating a Prefect." The grin beneath the words was unmistakable. He swung his gaze over to me, and after a moment, parted his mouth to say something—something a bit more serious from the look of his toned down expression—when a sudden commotion came crashing through the portrait hole. I jolted a few inches in my seat, pushing myself up from my slouched posture and craning my neck to see—

Oh, bloody hell. My friends are complete idiots.

Streaking through the portrait hole on sodding brooms were none other than George Weasley and Lee Jordan, expressions of intense competition furrowing their faces as they swerved dangerously close to a few unsuspecting heads. People ducked and a few girls screamed as the reckless duo shattered the previous calm of the room, flying low and dangerously fast overhead in what appeared to be some sort of race. George flew slightly ahead of Lee, though Lee was gaining on him.

"How many times?" George called over his shoulder, bent low over his broom, eyes dancing with competition.

"Three!" Lee bellowed, and the two instantly veered around the corner of the room, circling it recklessly and knocking down a few lamps and a painting in the process. I watched in sardonic disbelief as the two whirled around the room three times, a chaotic blur of skin and hair that left nobody safe. Lee nearly took out a little boy playing Exploding Snap, and George managed to knock over the Wizard's Chess table with his foot. "Where next?" Lee called, swerving last minute to avoid hitting the same little boy—the poor thing was going to be scarred for life.

"Divination Tower—through the back window—over the lake—back in through the Astronomy Tower—over the Great Hall…"

Upon completing three laps, they both made a sharp turn back to the portrait hole, zooming through it one by one—George in the lead—and leaving a whirlwind of flying papers and shocked expressions behind them. Fred and I both looked at each other, expressions flat and unsurprised. "A week, y'reckon?" I asked, raising a brow—he knew better than I did what kind of detention that would get them.

"Nah," he surmised, assessing the damage with a brief flit of his gaze, "I'd say a good month." His lips curled into a grin as his eyes re-met mine, gaze taking on a twinkle. "Two if McGonagall's feeling feisty."

* * *

They're plotting something.

I can feel it. Every time I walk into the room, Kats says something stupid, Angelina goes silent, and Alicia rolls her eyes at how suspicious they both look. Take now, for instance. It's somewhere around midnight, and even though it's a Friday, I'm more than ready for bed. Quidditch try-outs were on Wednesday, and it's been a hell of a long week to finish. I think I've snapped at people more in the past two days than my entire life combined.

And I don't mean people I know, who'll realize why I've turned into a psycho-bitch and let is slide for a few days—I mean people I've never even talked to before. Yesterday, a group of fourth year girls was sitting next to me at the Great Hall for breakfast, talking about blokes and blokes and—oh, could it be blokes?—the entire sodding time. One said something along the lines of, "I got a new lip gloss, and he didn't even notice!" and I _might've _said something along the lines of, "Why don't you try a positive IQ—he'll probably shit his bloody pants."

These were scattered intermittently throughout the day, making me a rather disliked person among the various underclassmen of Hogwarts, but I really couldn't bring myself to care. I was irritable and grumpy, and I didn't feel like letting it out any other way. What's more, I usually run or something to keep active whenever Quidditch is off-season, but for the past week I've done absolutely nothing requiring mitochondria—my movements are all sluggish and inescapably lazy.

So, tired and irritable, clambering up the stairs to the dormitory, I could already hear the hum of their hushed voices emitting from the crack beneath the door. Occasionally Alicia's voice would get too loud, and I could hear the mention of 'locked' and 'whole night' through the muffled mumble. I wasn't exactly thrilled by that verbal duo. I parted the door quietly as they continued to murmur, slowly pushing it forward and managing to avoid the inevitable creak near the middle. Huddled together atop Angelina's bed, the three heads were pulled together in clandestine scheming, the blond one bobbing up and down more than the rest.

"…has to be tonight, tomorrow's Hogsmeade and class starts up again on Monday."

"Bloody hell, are we really doing this?"

"It wouldn't be the first time you _got into someone else's business._" I didn't even have to look to know that was Angelina.

"And now you have a boyfriend you can't stop grinning like an idiot about, so stuff it." Alicia, naturally.

"I'm so happy you two finally got together." Hi, Katie.

"Oi, guys, focus—we have a plan to follow through that I'm risking my badge for!" Angelina-the-Pragmatic.

"Alright: so are we going to use a broom closet or the dungeons for this?"

"I dunno, Wood—"

"PECKERS!"

Katie's eyes were gaping saucers as they stared straight at me, horrified. I was leaning against the doorframe, head tilted with a distinct look of curiosity splashed across it. Angelina and Alicia were utterly confused, their backs turned to me, a sea of blonde curls and a pretty mane of long braids.

"Kats, what the—"

"Wood-peckers prefer, er, you know, wood, so I think a broom closet would be a better place to hide them…"

Alicia turned to Angelina, profile concerned. "I think she's got Mad-Cow…"

Her words drifted, however, as her sardonic gaze landed on mine, dawning realization clouding the clear blue. Her mouth parted briefly into an 'o' of understanding, and she followed this action with a not-so-subtle jab in Angelina's ribcage.

"Oi, you little bint—!" Her words silenced as she caught sight of me, entire body freezing conspicuously. I raised a brow: if these three ever had to lie for me on a witness stand, I would just convict my bloody self and get it over with.

"'Lo, you lot," I said a bit more breezily than absolutely necessary, brow still arched and arms dutifully crossed.

"Hey, Andy," Katie chirped—over-brightly, as usual. She was honestly the worst liar I'd ever met in my life.

Angelina didn't even say anything; she went with her usual M.O. of just going silent. Yeah, because that's not suspicious at all.

"We're coming up with a plot to make you get over this whole rut and stop acting emo, and it involves Oliver," Alicia stated simply, making Katie's eyes widen and Angelina groan.

You see, there's this little thing about Alicia: she thinks that if you just confront everything straight-on, without so much as blinking, right in someone's face, then it'll avoid all potential conflict. No one will care about it anymore. Her reasoning it that either people won't believe you—because why would you just confess your plan to them without even trying to cover it up?—or they'll see you not making a big deal out of it and conclude that it must not be big deal. I'll give it to her that sometimes—_sometimes_—this philosophy works. But very, excruciatingly rarely. Usually it just makes everyone involved in the scheme want to throttle her pretty little neck and tell her to grow a sodding filter between her mouth and her brain. Kind of like now.

"Bloody hell, Alicia, you're the stupidest smart person I know," Angelina muttered, shaking her head in disbelief at the blunt blonde beside her.

"Oh, stuff it—I didn't tell her what it was," Alicia retorted, rolling her eyes at the two—in her opinion, she'd done nothing the least bit incriminating.

I simply snorted at the trio, figuring that because of Alicia, their element of surprise was ruined, so whatever it was wouldn't be anything I wasn't prepared for. They'd probably try to get Wood to apologize.

Fat.

Bloody.

Chance.

And there was an even smaller chance that I would forgive him even if he did. Smaller meaning zero. But that's alright, because I knew he wouldn't anyway. He had his alleged justifications and I had mine, so we were just going to be in a perpetual stalemate. Fine by me, if he stays out of my way. "Don't worry about it, guys—I can guarantee you that if it involved Wood and a broom closet, it wouldn't have worked anyway," I muttered, ambling over to my four-poster and flopping down onto the comforter.

* * *

It _did _involve Wood and a broom closet.

And I _wasn't _prepared for it.

At three o' clock in the bloody morning, I felt a hand clamp itself over my mouth, and before I knew it I was muffled, blindfolded, and wrenched out of my bed by three distinctly familiar female figures clad in all black.

Gee, whoever could they be?

Thrashing about wildly and trying to escape, I fought against the three pairs of arms restraining me and dutifully dragging me out of the room. It was no use, since I was still half-asleep and they were all very much alert, but I like to be melodramatic about things.

And I like sleeping. A lot.

"Bloody hell, I'm going to kill you!" I yelled angrily as they carried me down the stairs, twisting and squirming, though all that came out was a rather muffled "_Bmumph hemph muh oim tuhm kilm ooo!"_

Threatening, I know.

And so, for the next five minutes or so, I was manhandled and roughened up by my so-called friends, dragged through the Gryffindor Common Room and out the portrait hole entirely against my will. When I finally managed to bite the hand clamped over my mouth, which resulted in a very much Katie-like squeal, I gritted out, _"Where the hell are you taking me!?"_

"Broom closet."

"With Wood."

"_What?_"

"Katie, shut her up again."

"No—_mmpphh_!"

"Thank you."

Alicia Spinnet will die by the end of this night.

Once again struggling against the restraining hands—Kats was much better at avoiding my biting technique the second time around—I faintly heard the sound of a door being unlocked, and the creak of old wood being forced open. Three pairs of hands shoved me forward into a room that smelled overwhelmingly musky, like sodden mops and old rags, and before I could even turn around, the resounding smack of a door slamming echoed behind me.

Demeaned and infuriated, I struggled to remove the blindfold tied tightly around my eyes, recognizing the fabric as one of Angelina's old pantyhose from her dancing days. I grimaced in disgust as I finally wrenched it off and tossed it off to the side, not expecting another hand to shoot out from the darkness and catch the balled up tights with second-nature ease. My eyes flew shut in disbelief, head lolling back and frustrated groan leaving my lips—only a star Keeper could boast of those reflexes. They weren't sodding kidding. They'd actually locked me into a bloody broom closet with the tyrant who kicked me off his team three days ago. "This is a nightmare."

I turned my head in his direction, eyes bright with anger and arms stubbornly crossed, and was once again caught entirely off-guard by what I saw. Standing before me was Wood—that much I'd expected—with a speculative frown on his lips, staring down at the silky pantyhose balled within his fist. Clad in nothing but a loose pair of flannel pajama pants.

"Consider yourself lucky," he drawled, holding up his hand briefly to indicate the black tights, "they used Fred's old sock for me."

Suffice to say, my stare was riveted elsewhere.

This was going to be one hell of a night.

**A/N:** Sorry for the wait! It was written ages ago but I never got the chance to post it! Next chapter's, like, done. I feel rather bad for Oliver since quite a few people seem to be sore with him, so I thought I'd post this to try and clear up some ill-feeling:

**Review:** I really like this story (and its main character) but Wood is really hard to like. I've kinda stopped hoping that Andy and him will get together in the end. Does he get, I don't know, less jerk-like later on?

**Author's Response:**_ Aw, poor Wood, haha - I guess the only thing I can really say is that this is written purely from Andy's perspective, so her emotions and her thoughts are the only thing we get to see. I know I'm giving a really tainted image of Wood right now because of her feelings, but realize that we hear her justifications and reasons far more than we hear his. Perhaps dear Mr. Oliver recognizes how dangerous and reckless Andy likes to play, and it makes him worry a bit... and that's why he's constantly trying to keep her in line and make her realize that some rules are stupid, yes, but they're also easy to follow - and if she can't follow the easy rules, she certainly can't follow the more important, harder ones. I guess Wood's perspective of Andy would show you a far more daring, impudent Quidditch player than Andy herself sees, because Wood's far more rule-oriented and notices each and every one she breaks. And also, perhaps if he did find it deep within his stubborn heart to care about her, he gets tense everytime she risks her life on the field (which believe me, she does - she does anything to get a snitch)... so, just a few perspectives to see if I can make this make more sense :P And yeah, he'll lighten up eventually, don't worry. At least it's the canon character you somewhat dislike, and not the OC - which is usually the case. Thanks for the honest opinion!_


	10. Frailty, Thy Name is Andy

**Settling the Score**

Frailty, Thy Name is Andy

I've seen Wood without a shirt on before, I really have.

Sometimes he'd take it off during summer practices — along with the Weasley twins, who always got comically sunburned and freckled — and a whole array of gaggling girls would swing by to watch and disrupt everything. I always remember it being a rather dismissive event.

Nothing more than a slight annoyance.

In fact, I'm rather certain Wood's given one of his little pre-game 'Quidditch-is-Life' speeches while putting on the rest of his uniform, and I only ever remember distantly noticing.

Now, however, for some infuriating reason, I'm finding it inescapably hard to notice anything else.

I continually find my gaze drifting over the hard ridges of muscle rippled over his chest and stomach, giving way to broad, toned shoulders on one end and sharply cut hipbones on the other. They stretch and loosen with every bloody movement he makes, and I'm really starting to wish he would just forget how to breathe.

I wasn't exactly all that well-covered, either, draped in a large, oversized sweater with a hem that skimmed to about mid-thigh. It wasn't that it was a suggestive pajama choice by any means, it was just… uncomfortable. The neckline was loose and tended to slip off my shoulder, and my legs were awfully bare.

"So," he began, breaking me out of my hormones-on-acid staring fest as I wrenched my gaze back up to his. The corners of his lips lifted ever so slightly at the movement, obviously realizing what I was so enthralled by and gaining a sense of smug amusement from it all.

My distraught gaze immediately narrowed. "So," I snapped back—hell if I'd be conversational.

His gaze briefly flitted to the floor, smile widening somewhat sardonically at the bite in my voice. I knew any hopes he'd had of making this as pleasant as possible were shattered by my tone, and I was satisfied with that. This night was going to be hell for him.

A rather tense, momentary silence filled the room as we both simply stood there, unsure of what to do or how long we were going to be locked in. After a few seconds, I heard a rustling noise, and I glanced over to see Wood flopping down on the dusty stone floor, legs sprawled before him and head propped against the wall.

A prickling sense of irritation washed through me—why did he look so resigned to this? Maybe the door was loose or the hinges were bad, maybe the lock was faulty or we could find something to pick it with? "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Vegetating, or something equally productive," I snapped.

"Yeah, that's it, for the most part," he agreed.

My eyes narrowed. "Well, I'm going to look for a way out."

He snorted. "Don't bother with it, love, I already checked."

"Well, I'm going check again," I announced stubbornly, swiveling around and surveying my surroundings with a calculative air. "And I'm nobody's 'love', Wood—least of all yours."

I could feel the lazy smirk spread over his lips behind me, making my eyes narrow briefly as they scanned. The room was inescapably cramped, lined with shelves and shelves of boxes and buckets. The only light came from a small, rectangular window high in the corner, which only let a few scattered moonbeams into the room.

Sighing, I began to scout out the boxes that looked potentially helpful, looking for things such as bobby pins or anything thin enough to pick a lock. A hammer would work, too, but that was more for dealing with Wood. I did this for about five minutes or so, getting into a sort of rhythm as I carefully rifled through the boxes, until Wood interrupted me.

"Think you can keep it down?" he called from behind me, eyes closed and body sprawled over the floor carelessly.

My eyes narrowed at the comment, and without missing a beat, I flicked my wrist to the side, sending a bucket full of cleaning supplies hurtling off the shelf and crashing against the floor. "Oops."

I could feel his eyes snap open into a glare behind me, but I paid it no mind, taking a few steps back from the shelving and sweeping my eyes over it in general assessment. Nothing of use was within my reach.

"Do you think you could find it within yourself to—oh, I don't know—help?" I grumbled over my shoulder, nodding my head at the higher shelves indicatively.

"Merlin, Wiles, I already looked, there's nothing," he replied irritably, not even bothering with opening his eyes. He looked like he was sodding meditating.

"What the hell are you doing anyway?"

"Just trying to clear my head."

I snorted. "Can't imagine that would be too difficult."

A bitter smile curled itself onto his lips, eyes still closed. "Your charm astounds me more and more everyday."

I tossed him a falsely sweet smile, "What can I say? Your sweet, sunshine-y disposition just brings it out of me." Smile crumpling into a glower as his sardonic grin widened, I swiveled back to face the cramped shelving, wishing Filch had a little more excitement in his life. Maybe then he'd have more than broken rags, tattered mops, and dried up brooms stored in here.

Up in the far left, I saw something thin and rod-like gleaming in the moonlight, though one attempt on my tip-toes was all it took to tell me that I was out of my height league. That looked like it could potentially pick a lock—it was certainly long enough. I scowled, placing my hands on my hips as I gauged the distance. It wasn't completely impossible, I just needed some… leverage.

And my leverage was half-asleep behind me, trying to reach sodding Nirvana.

Wheeling around halfway, I parted my lips to make Wood open his sodding eyes already and wake the hell up, though to my surprise, they were already open. Lazy and heavy-lidded, they were—

…it almost looked like they were—

…like they were flitting down the length of my legs.

But only for the briefest moment. I only had a millisecond to take notice before they flickered back up to my gaze, characteristically dark and noncommittal. I stared at him, expression puzzled and distinctly caught off-guard.

"Something wrong?" he drawled, raising a brow. He had the sodding nerve to look mocking.

"I—no—yes." I'm rather brilliant at this whole formulating sentences thing.

His lips curved at the corners, more so on one than the other, making them lopsided. "Well?"

"I—" _want to know why you were staring at my legs _"—can't reach…"

His brow furrowed. "Can't reach…?" he trailed off, motioning with his hand for me to continue.

"The box," I clarified, finally snapping out of my daze, "I can't reach the box—it's the one on the top shelf."

His gaze shifted over to the highest rack on the shelving, dragging down the length until it found the box I was talking about. It was shoved all the way into the corner, as inconveniently located as physically possible.

"And you think I can? That about ten and half feet up, Wiles," he pointed out, tone dismissive.

"Yeah, but what's six feet plus five feet and six and a half inches?" I asked pointedly, crossing my arms. He parted his lips to respond, though I promptly interrupted him, "More than ten and half, that's what—so get up."

"You're only five foot six?" he queried with a humorous drawl, stalling on the ground like the lazy prick that he was.

"Five foot six and a _half_—and for your information, that's fairly tall for a girl," I replied curtly, tossing him a pointed look as he continued to dawdle. "Get up!"

He sighed, rolling his eyes before making a big old show out of standing. He rustled around, stretching and yawning unnecessarily, making the hard ridges of his abs ripple and contract alongside the smooth, tanned curves of his arms. I purposefully averted my stare, scoffing to myself—self-loving wanker.

"Just for the record, I'm six foot two," he drawled somewhat cockily after finally having gotten to his feet, rubbing the back of his neck as he approached me.

"Two inches, same difference," I muttered, waving my hand carelessly.

He snorted, coming to a halt at my side. "Yeah, clearly your half an inch is far more important."

"It's all about priorities," I replied arbitrarily, noting that he was still kneading his neck. I raised a brow, but didn't comment. "Alright, so ju—wh—AGH—_what are you doing_?"

Before I could even complete my pseudo-sentence, Wood had curled his hands around either side of my waist, hauling me up and onto his shoulder.

"I'm lifting you, what does it look like I'm doing?" he retorted, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. Which, if you think about it, it kind of is, but that's beside the point.

"I—yes, well clearly, but—"

He shifted me slightly on his shoulder, causing me to squawk insanely attractively and grab onto his other shoulder for balance. Sensing my unsteadiness, he lifted one hand to the small of my back, bringing the other to my calves and holding them firmly against his chest.

"What—did you have something else in mind?" he asked pointedly as I struggled to stay steady, though I swore I could detect the slightest hint of satisfied amusement in his tone. My eyes narrowed briefly—I hated being treated like bloody entertainment.

"I was thinking more of a 'you kneel down on the ground and I use you as a stool' kind of thing," I gritted out irritably, not at all comfortable with my lack of balance, lack of distance from him, and lack of sodding clothing, "but I guess this'll have to work."

"A simple 'thank you' would be more than enough, really," he muttered sarcastically, carelessly edging his way to the corner of the room as if there weren't one hundred and twenty five pounds of irritated girl on his shoulder.

I wobbled back and forth a bit as he moved, finding it ridiculous that I could handle a five-hundred foot dive on a broom but not a harmless, six foot—excuse me, six foot _two_—little ride on Wood's shoulder. I tightened my grip briefly as he took a step slightly faster than the rest, perhaps maybe _accidentally _using a tiny bit of nail.

He hissed shortly, his grip on my calf moving up ever so slightly as he tossed me a glower. "Do you think you could refrain from digging your nails into me?"

"Do you think you could refrain from randomly speeding up?" I retorted tetchily as he began easing to a halt, wondering why this whole situation was messing entirely with my sense of balance.

"I wasn't randomly speeding up."

"You're steps got faster out of nowhere!"

"_Barely—_"

"Enough to knock me off balance!"

"You're a sodding Seeker, Wiles, I think you can handle it!"

I stiffened somewhat on his shoulder, eyes hardening coldly. His muscles tensed somewhat as he came to a halt, and I knew he realized his mistake. "Don't you mean I _was _a sodding Seeker?"

My tone was icily cool, and I could feel the mindless bickering mood of the room tense. The question needed no answer, though he probably wouldn't have given me one even if it did. Instead, he simply cleared his throat, motioning to the shelf with a nod of his head.

_Pansy_, I thought with a darkening scowl, _if you're going to do something, you might as well live up to it. _Scoffing silently, I tore my gaze back over to the shelf, relocating the box with the gleaming metal rod in the darkness.

It still looked slightly out of reach, but worth a try.

Reaching forward, I extended my hand toward the flimsy cardboard, scowling as my fingers just barely brushed the smooth brown flap. I tried again, brushing the surface yet again, though I couldn't catch hold of enough of the flap to pull the box forward.

"Can we get a little closer?" I called below me, to which Wood took the smallest step in the history of small steps in response.

"That's as close as it gets, Wiles."

I glowered, sighing irritably as I once again reached forward—he might as well have not even moved. Fixing my gaze back on the stupid box, which was so incredibly close, I glared, staring it down. _I'm going to get this sodding box. _

Throwing caution to the wind, I once again leaned forward, though this time I felt myself lifting off of his shoulder—further and further until the flap was right there, perfectly in reach, right between my fingers, _clamped within my grip—_

Then Wood's hand quickly swept from my calf to my upper thigh, rough fingers pressing into my bare skin to keep me from losing my balance.

…

And that's exactly what it made me do.

I jolted about five inches into the air, sending both of us completely topsy-turvy as he struggled to regain some sort of steadiness. Stubbornly refusing to let go of the box, which was a horrible plan in retrospect, I accidentally hauled it off the shelf as Wood toppled a few steps backward, completely off-balance.

"_Bloody_—ARGH!"

It went sprawling backwards into the black abyss, pulling me with it until I had enough sodding sense to let go, though the damage was already done. Wood was stumbling backwards blindly—my hand had somehow made its way to his eyes in the chaos of it all—and cursing uncontrollably, trying to regain his balance and keep me from falling off at the same time.

"_Damn it_, Wiles—!"

"Sorry! I—_shit_!"

"_Bloody_—FUCK!"

He stumbled backwards into the godforsaken box, which sent both of us flying backwards into the darkness in a series of strangled expletives and tangled limbs. Somewhere between falling and making contact with the ground, Wood managed to haul me down from his shoulder, pulling me against his chest in an attempt to break my fall.

We both landed with a painful 'oomph', though mine was considerably softer due to the fact that Wood became a landing mat of sorts. Crashing against him, I was fairly certain I elbowed him in the stomach, though everything was far too chaotic to be completely sure.

The box went flying backwards a few feet before finally screeching to a halt, the rusty rod scraping against the ground with the lovely shriek of metal on stone. It left a ringing, lingering silence in its wake, punctuated only by the sound of my heart thrashing within my ribcage and heavy breathing.

For a moment, we both simply lay there, breathless, aching, and hopelessly entangled. I could feel Wood's chest rising and falling rapidly beneath my body, his hand draped protectively across my waist, breath warm against the back of my neck.

Unexpected goosebumps arose on the exposed skin of my shoulder, as if sensing the dangerous proximity of his lips. If he shifted, even just the slightest bit, they would brush against the skin of my neck, and the thought made my whole body grow inexplicably warm.

After a moment, a low groan rumbled from his throat, vibrating against my skin as he lulled his head to the side, burying it in my hair. "Wiles?" he croaked, his voice hoarse and strangled, murmur sounding precariously close to my ear.

"Mm?" My body felt skittish for some reason—every brain cell in my head was screaming at me to get the hell off him, but my muscles refused to move.

His breathing was raspy beneath me, voice unusually husky and tight, "Could you have possibly picked a worse place to elbow?"

"Oh… right, sorry about your stomach…"

He grunted somewhat painfully, shifting beneath me. "It was a bit south of there, love…"

My eyes widened enormously, lips parting in mortified horror as my body finally jolted back to reality. Within an instant, I had rolled myself off of him, scrambling into a sitting position beside him as he winced. "I—didn't—I mean—it wasn't—"

"Intentional?" he growled raspily, face somewhat contorted. A pained grin twisted itself onto his lips, torturous and wry. "I don't know if I believe you."

Not catching onto the veiled humor in all my flustered idiocy, my expression crumpled, shaking my head vehemently. "No, I swear—I mean normally, it probably would've been on purpose because usually you're being a right prick about everything and I want to throttle you, but this time it was a complete accident—I mean you broke my sodding fall, for Merlin's sake, you were like a human pillow—not that you were all that soft, in all honesty, you were actually quite hard—"

…

So.

I dig myself into holes. I don't know if you've noticed, but I do it quite often, and usually, things get inescapably awkward.

Kind of like right now.

"I… I didn't mean—"

"Didn't mean what?" Wood drawled, voice still raspy—only he could get bloody elbowed in the groin and still have the uncanny ability to pack mockery into every syllable.

Eyes narrowing irritably, I met his gaze.

For a moment, I was caught by the expression on his face; one I saw often, but generally not so close up. He had a dark brow raised, sharpening the cutting angles of his face in the scattered shadows. His lips were curled ever so slightly at the ends, and his dark, wry eyes were lidded somewhat heavily from the fall.

Granted, his features were a bit more strained than usual due to… well, circumstances… but they managed to look just as roguish and infuriating as ever. In fact, they almost looked… _suggestive. _

But then again, given the subject matter, they had every right to. "Don't be thick, Wood—you know what I'm referring to," I muttered, snapping out of my observational moment as I shuffled to my feet.

"No, I," he began, grunting as he struggled to prop himself up, "I actually don't, Wiles—care to elaborate?"

I crossed my arms over my chest, once again averting my gaze from his stretching and contracting muscles—they were really becoming a bit of a problem. "Not really."

His smile twisted sardonically. "You sure know how to thank someone for saving your life."

My eyes veered into a roll, "Wow, that's not melodramatic at all."

He cocked his head to the side slightly, torso propped up by his elbows. "You know, you're really terrible at saying thank you," he observed, tone unexpectedly critical. Something had shifted in his gaze—from teasing to somewhat judgmental.

I snorted derisively, "Maybe because I've never had anything to thank you for." The retort was sarcastic, though deep down, I knew he had a bit of a point: he had just taken a fall twice as hard for me.

I didn't know why, exactly—he certainly didn't seem to care about my health when he made me do all sorts of insane exercises as punishment for petty infractions—but the fact was that he did, and I was going to have to say thank you one way or another.

"No—remember that one time in the Observatory when I fixed your telescope for you?" he asked, raising a brow critically.

My gaze flattened, eyes growing cool. "You mean when you called me a petty princess whose only chance of getting back on the team was by trying out again, and even then it wasn't likely?" I arched a sharp brow, lips pursing. "Vividly."

"Fine," he sighed, lifting his palm in mock surrender. "Touché."

"I certainly thought so."

He scoffed tiredly, bringing his hand back up to his neck and wincing as he rubbed it. "You know, I really don't understand why I try to argue with you."

"Me neither, in all honesty."

"That's not a compliment, Wiles," he clarified, locking his gaze with mine, "it just means you always obscure my point entirely by throwing in some irrational detail and focusing on that instead."

"Yeah, I can see how mentioning the fact that you told me off that night was just an 'irrational detail' that had nothing to do with the argument," I agreed sarcastically, to which he merely sighed, shaking his head.

"Nevermind, forget it—seeing the bigger picture is clearly not your forte."

"And creating a sound argument clearly isn't yours."

He lulled his head back, veering his eyes skyward irritably. "I said forget it—just let it go."

I snorted sardonically. "Yeah, easy to say when you're losing the fight."

"Alright, whatever, fine."

"So you admit—"

"_Wiles_," he interjected sharply, cutting his silencing gaze over to mine, "just drop it."

I held his glare for a moment, forcing my lips shut. My tongue was itching for the last word, jaw clenched and comebacks racing through my head, though I somehow managed to keep them at bay. I didn't want to give him any more reason to patronize me.

"Thank you," he finally muttered, tilting his head to the side as if to unclench a kinked muscle.

"You're welcome." I couldn't help it—my mouth has a sodding mind of its own. He merely tossed me a look, gaze flat and condescending, before glancing away and bringing his hand back to his neck.

I watched him knead the muscles in his neck for a moment, knowing I had to thank him one way or another before the night was over. If anything, just to prove him wrong—I could bloody say thank you.

Deep down, I knew I was being horribly immature about this whole thing—he took a fall for me, after all, there was no getting around it—but it was just that fact that it was… well, _Wood_… that was making it so sodding difficult.

"What'd you do to your neck?" I found myself asking, impatient with the silence and needing time to stall.

"I haven't exactly been sleeping all that well for the past few days," he explained, wincing as he hit a particularly sore spot, "I've been up trying to think of new game plans now that you… well…"

He trailed off, sensing that the topic could get tense and instinctively steering away from it. "I just haven't been sleeping well."

He inhaled sharply as he hit a knot, eyes narrowing into a wince, and I simply rolled my eyes, striding over to where he was sprawled and kneeling down behind him. "Move," I muttered, smacking his hand away from his neck pettily and bringing my hands to his shoulders.

He seemed surprised at first, back tensing under the touch of my fingers, though after taking his shoulders into my palms and applying a fair bit of pressure, he slowly began relaxing into my grip. He certainly wasn't exaggerating about how tense his back was—he had knots clenched deep within his muscles that were stiffening his whole body.

My brow furrowed as I concentrated on his neck, kneading known pressure points with my fingers. A barely audible groan of pleasure rumbled from his throat as I hit a particularly stiff area, making my lips curve with satisfaction. "And you said I couldn't say thank-you."

He lulled his head to the side as I loosened the knot, clearly enjoying it. "I've always been a fan of show, not tell."

I merely rolled my eyes, continuing to ease the stiffened tension in his neck as I focused on the areas I knew stress affected most. He groaned yet again, eyes falling closed. "Where'd you learn how to give such a damn good massage, Wiles?"

"It's not about the massage, really," I replied, shifting forward to apply more pressure on the base of his neck, "it's just about knowing where pressure points are. My mum's a Biology teacher, so I know my way around the human body."

"You certainly do," he drawled thoughtlessly, neither of us really catching the subtly sexual undercurrent running in the exchange. "So your mum's a muggle?"

I couldn't help but grin sardonically, an image of my mother swimming in my head. Same dark, curly hair, same impetuous attitude, same utter abhorrence for high-heeled shoes, "She's as muggle as it gets."

"Why do you say that?"

My grin widened into a smile, fingers still dutifully kneading. "Well, she's completely clueless about magic—I mean, she knows I'm a witch and everything of course—but her outlook on life is so sodding scientific that she couldn't possibly try to even understand this world."

Wood nodded slowly, idly listening. "What about your Dad—is he a muggle too?"

"No, not at all," I responded, slowly easing my hands away from his neck and venturing downward, "he came from this uptight pureblood family that I'm pretty sure he has nothing to do with anymore."

"You're pretty sure?" he repeated, tone somewhat skeptical as he rolled back his shoulders, stretching them out. "Wouldn't you know?"

"I don't actually see him all that much, in all honesty," I admitted, not exactly sure why I felt so at ease at the moment, talking about my family life with Wood of all people, "he and my mum were only together for a little bit before… well, before they couldn't stand each other any longer, really."

"Sounds sort of rough."

I shrugged, spreading my hands across the broad width of his back, "Not really, I was little—I mean, I would've liked to have him around more growing up, don't get me wrong—but you just… get used it. I actually see my step-mum more than I see him, because she's really big on the whole family thing. After she had a son, she couldn't have anymore children, so she likes to pretend I'm the daughter she never had. She's thrilled by how girly I turned out," I added sarcastically.

He nodded yet again, parting his lips to say something, though a sharp hiss promptly cut through his words as I reached a pinched nerve. I eased my pressure somewhat, trying to lessen the brief pain, though I couldn't help but raise a brow at the state of his back. "Have you even been sleeping in a bed, Wood?"

He snorted sardonically. "Bed—what's that?"

I shook my head, feeling oddly motherly as I continued to work my way down, now reaching the center of his back. "You really need to get to bed earlier—or at all, really—your back's a wreck."

"I dunno, maybe I should just be nice to you more often—then you can be my own personal masseuse," he drawled, and I could sense the grin curling the ends of his lips as I snorted.

"I wouldn't count on it," I replied, upping the pressure of my fingers slightly, "though I'm a fan of the whole 'be nice' plan."

"Oh, c'mon, Wiles, I'm _nice_to you—"

I practically choked, my fingers coming to halt on his back. "You're joking, right?"

"No, I'm not," he replied indignantly, swiveling halfway on his torso to face me, "there are plenty of times when I've been nice to you."

I let my hands drop from his back, crossing them over my chest instead. "Name one."

"Well," he began, gaze leaving mine as he racked his brain for an answer, "there… I mean, there's that time when… or no, wait…"

My lips curled into a flat smirk. "That's what I thought."

"Just hold on—if you're going to put me on the spot, you have to give me a second," he demanded, brow furrowing as his stare flitted downward, determined and pensive.

I merely watched him struggle to dig something up, satisfied expression settled over my features. Perhaps now he'd gain a sense of just how much of a prick he could be.

Suddenly, his gaze shot back up, triumphant smile in place. "Third Year."

My brows shot up disbelievingly. "Third Year? You had to go all the way back to Third sodding Year to find the last time you were nice to me? Does that tell you nothing at all?"

"It's not 'that last time I was nice to you', Wiles, it's just something I happen to remember at the moment," he retorted, tone slightly irritated.

"Well, what exactly did you do, then?"

His grin returned. "I helped you up."

My brows knitted, eyes flickering with confusion. "You helped me up?"

"I helped you up."

"…from what?"

"It was Third Year—your Second Year, I s'pose, and it was our first Quidditch practice. You were the team's brand new Seeker, and like the epitome of grace that you are, you fell on your arse barely five minutes into the whole thing. Of course, I, being the gallant, debonair gentleman that I am—"

"—helped me up," I concluded, vaguely remembering the moment—if he hadn't of mentioned it, I wouldn't of even realized it had been him who offered me a hand. "That was back before we even knew each other, Wood."

"Exactly," he agreed, though a hint of teasing was crinkling his eyes. "I had no idea how big of a stubborn cow you'd turn out to be."

I pulled a 'ha-ha' face, rolling my eyes, though the corners of my lips lifted slightly. "Yeah, well, I'm full of surprises."

Wood snorted, muttering something along the lines of 'Right."

Something about his tone made my eyes narrow—it was unexpectedly patronizing. "What?"

His gaze flickered back over to mine, frank and somewhat amused. "Well, nothing, it's just you're one of the most predictable people I know."

My eyes narrowed further. "How am I predictable?"

"I'd tell you, but you'd only get angry and deny everything."

"No, I wouldn't," I tossed back, tone distinctly irritated.

He raised a brow. "Kind of like that—but just forget about it."

"No, I want to know how I'm predictable." Something told me nothing good could come from pressing the issue, though I found myself doing it anyway.

"Well, for one thing, you never let anything go," he said pointedly, tossing me a look as I parted my lips to deny. Catching the implication, I managed to snap them shut irritably, to which he merely smirked. "Very good."

"Wanker."

"You always want the last word," he continued, lips curving further at my struggle not to say anything, lest I prove him right. "You're also ridiculously easy to get a rise out of—you get stroppy about the most predictable things."

"Wha—no I don't—"

"Viper has a better Brislow Dive than you do."

"ARE YOU SODDING KIDDING M—"

Wood's lips curled into an instant smirk, brow arching mockingly. My lips snapped shut tightly in anger, eyes burning—I was quickly coming to the conclusion that I didn't like this little game. Clearing my throat, I tried to keep my temper from flaring, restricting my tone to one of forced politeness. "What I meant was: I'm not in agreement with your opinion."

"Right, of course."

"In a complete non-stroppy way."

"Sure."

"Yeah."

"Great."

"Mm-hmm."

"Is this you not trying to get the last word?" he asked, clearly amused.

I bristled, tilting up my chin indignantly. "I just like closure, is all."

He eyed me with a skeptical look of amusement, shaking his head briefly. "Call it what you'd like."

I bit down hard on my tongue to keep a retort at bay, letting the window for the last word go by without speaking. After a brief silence, I raised a brow. "So, is that it, then? Because, really, you haven't proved anything."

He smirk widened as he tilted his head to the side, gaze scrutinizing. "Well, I know for a fact that you can't take a compliment."

My eyes narrowed, mood getting steadily sourer with every word. "What are you talking about? Of course I can take a compliment."

"Oh, really?"

"Really."

"You have extremely pretty eyes, Wiles."

I scoffed by default, my body immediately reacting negatively—he merely smirked. "No, Wood—feeding me a line in order to prove yourself right doesn't qualify as a compliment."

"Who says I was feeding you a line?"

I tossed him a tetchy look, though he ignored it as yet another brilliant example of my predictability struck him. "Oh, right—whenever you're angry, you do this strange thing with your mouth where you—well, I don't know how to describe it, really, but… actually, you're doing it right now."

My gaze flattened. "Imagine that."

"You also can't take a joke for the life of you," he continued, undeterred by my spiraling irritation. "I've lost count of how many times you've snapped at me for something I was completely kidding about."

"A direct reflection of how devastatingly funny you are."

"And you're relentlessly sarcastic—I can practically predict your responses by now," he pressed on mindlessly, tone infuriatingly patronizing. "Oh, and you're always stroppy in the mornings."

"How would you even kno—"

"And in terms of Quidditch, I mean…" he trailed off, not even noticing the instantaneous sharpening of my gaze. My whole body tensed as a slow smile spread over his lips—this was dangerous territory. "I can call your every move, Wiles."

My shoulders were tense and stiff; when he was my captain, he had every right to dole out constructive criticism (although it was hardly ever constructive, really)—but now that he'd so graciously given up that right, I was not about to take a slew of insults. Quidditch was still quite the sore subject with me, and calling a player predictable is practically the worst insult there is.

"Not necessarily to other teams, just to me," he explained casually, either gloriously unaware of my spiraling anger or unable to bring himself to care. "After four years of being on the same team, your moves have become so easy to read—high risk, low chance of a positive outcome."

My skin was starting to prickle with simmering anger. "Right, because I never won you a game, Wood."

"Oh, no, no, don't get me wrong, you pull it off," he corrected, raising the palms of his hands, though a derisive sort of chuckle rumbled from the back of his throat. "Granted, I have no idea how."

I almost choked out a disbelieving laugh. Was he _kidding? _Talent, maybe? Skill? Practice? Did he honestly not recognize _any_of those? "Yeah, I can't possibly imagine how I've had any success," I gritted out.

He nodded vaguely in agreement, clearly not catching the sarcasm. "I mean, you're extremely all-or-nothing—but somehow, you almost always manage to get 'all' rather than 'nothing', it's uncanny."

"_Somehow_," I echoed, tone bitingly bitter. "Somehow, because it's completely inexplicable, right?"

"Pretty much, I mean, to pull such sporadic maneuvers and get lucky every time is rather unheard of," he prattled off, oblivious to the instant fire that roared to life in my eyes. Get _lucky_? _Sporadic_? Did he have any idea how much bloody time I devoted to perfecting those so-call 'random' techniques? All the midnight hours, the burning muscles, the sweat and blood it took to 'get lucky' every bloody time?

"You know _what_—"

"But I mean, besides that, even at practices you're predictable," he continued, moronically ignorant. "You're always five minutes late, you always tie your hair up instead of paying attention as I break down the warm-ups, and you always screw up them up because you weren't listening."

My eyes were burning as his lips curled into a subtle smirk. "Blimey, that was aggravating. And that's not even getting into the strategy meetings—sodding _hell_, you make the _same_ comment about later practices every single time. You don't even bother with changing the wording, either, you just spit it right out in between suggestions that are actually _practical_…"

I was practically seething by this point—nothing about having December practices at six in the sodding morning was _practical_, especially during weekdays, when we had tests to study for and classes to go to. Enough was bloody enough—this just turned into an excuse for Wood to sit there and rattle off insults.

"I mean, really—the way you act with me, with your friends, with Quidditch, it's all so damn easy to read, you're like an open book," he observed, scoffing in amusement. "In fact, I _dare_ you to do something _un_predicta—"

I don't exactly know what snapped within me. Maybe it was the blatant challenge he was issuing, maybe it was pent up anger from my emotional meltdown, and maybe it was just long, long overdue—but before he could even finish his sentence, my hand had collided against his cheek, cutting through the room with a slicing crack.

"Predict that!" I snapped, letting my building anger and aggravation flood over me as I pushed myself off the floor, shuffling to my feet.

"Fucking _hell_, Wiles!" he growled, his eyes—bright amber and clearly incensed—snapping back over to mine. He too got to his feet, stance tall and demanding of an answer. "What the hell was that for?"

"Oh, let's think about this, shall we?" I wondered over-brightly, scrunching my face in mock-thought. "You sit their like the self-righteous git that you are, insulting every aspect of my personality that you can think of—what I gathered was irrational, immature, no sense of humor, bitchy, irresponsible, and frivolously stubborn—then you have the sodding nerve to call me a predictable Quidditch player, which happens to be one of the worst bloody things you can be as a Seeker, since the whole damn point is to keep your opponent guessing, and then," I trilled, though my expression promptly flattened into one of total disdain, "you did what you always bloody do."

"And what's that?" he demanded, still preoccupied with the fact that I'd actually slapped him.

"Undermine me," I growled coldly, gaze level with his. "During practices, during games, during anything even resembling a conversation, you find a way to take something I've worked hard for and value and turn it into something that means nothing—something I manage to 'get lucky' in from time to time."

Recognizing the use of his own words, his stubborn retort dissolved on his tongue, and his head began shaking quickly. "No, I didn't mean that yo—"

"This isn't the first time, Wood," I cut in, running right over his words. "You do it so often, it's almost _predictable_—you know, predictable, your new favorite word? In fact, maybe it's time to analyze you, and find out just how predictable _you_are."

"Wiles—"

"Don't even try it—you got your chance to tear me apart, and now I'm sure as hell getting mine," I growled, seeing the flicker of hesitance in his gaze—he knew this couldn't go anywhere good. "You're _predictably_ a prick every time you're near me, you _predictably_ criticize everything I do, and you _predictably _go into sodding convulsions if you're not in total control of everyone and everything around you."

His brow furrowed, though he surprisingly remained silent. "You're obsessed with forming a game-plan and sticking with it no matter what, because the idea of deviating from it or bending the rules a bit would never even cross your bloody mind," I ranted, tone sharp and accusing. "In fact, you absolutely refuse to recognize anyone's success unless they got it by following your little plan—you see no value whatsoever in taking risks, throwing caution to the wind!"

"Wiles."

"And you know what? That doesn't really work for me, because I happen to like a bit of risk! Taking chances makes things more exciting," I spelled out for him, tone caustic. "And if you think I haven't caught onto the fact that you loathe that about me, that you seethe inside whenever I catch the Snitch by pulling a move that isn't in your precious little playbook, that involves a bit of danger, then you really aren't giving me enough credit." My gaze slitted coldly, "Not that that'd be anything new."

His eyes were darker than usual as they bore into mine, lips curved into a deep frown. "Are you done?"

"No," I asserted, not really having anything planned but just going with it. "In fact, I'm nowhere _near_ done. You take yourself way too seriously, Wood, and that excess of bloody self-importance makes you treat others—namely _me_—with far less respect than they deserve. You think leadership means having a death grip on everyone around you, epitomizing responsibility and never letting loose, but you know what?" I asked, taking a step closer, eyes fiery.

His stare was shadowed and hard as it held mine, the angles of his jaw line tense. My eyes were galling slits, "One of these days, something's bound to happen that you won't have any shred of control over, something that you can't just get rid of by kicking off your little team—and you're going to learn the hard way that this isn't 'The World According to Oliver'," I growled, eyes trained on his, "this is _reality_—and it doesn't give a _damn_about what you have to say."

For a moment, we merely stared at each other. Tension hung in the air like old, velvet curtains, thick and heavy and swallowing. The intensity of the room was far too intoxicating to be uncomfortable—we were swallowed in it. Wholly and completely consumed.

Wood's eyes were burning with something that I couldn't quite decipher—it was something completely unprecedented, something that made his eyes molten. I knew none of the things I was saying were pleasant to hear, but at the same time, a faint sense of intuition told me there was more to that particular expression. Something slightly more… well, just, _more_.

"So, in conclusion, Wood," I managed to say, finally breaking the ringing silence, "it seems to me that you're really bloody _predictable_. In fact," I paused, gaze slitting, "I _dare_ you to do something _un_predictable."

The buzzing sense of satisfaction that came along with giving someone the telling-off they'd been asking for started to flood my veins, though something about the off-beat, inscrutable expression in his eyes was stilting the feeling. Why did he look so bloody troubled? I just did exactly what he did to me, but it seemed like I'd hit a target that was a bit deeper than intended. What it was, I had no idea, but it was there.

It almost made me even angrier—he could insult me without a care in the world, and I try to do the same, and a looming sense of guilt tries to shatter the soaring feeling of vindication. It almost wasn't even worth it, to let my anger overcome me and let it all out if I was going to feel this. I didn't it know what the feeling was, exactly, but it most definitely exhausted me. I'd just had enough.

After a moment, his gaze flitted downward, his lips parting to say something, though he promptly froze.

I raised a brow, guarded yet still somewhat alarmed by the sudden movement. "Wh—"

"_Shhh_," he demanded, raising a hand to silence me. My eyes narrowed, though curiosity got the better of me as I fell silent.

"…my sweet, are you leading me to good-for-nothin' miscreants? The students here, Mrs. Norris, they're _vermin_—vermin for you to play with, if I be havin' it my way…"

My eyes widened slightly as I recognized the wheezy voice of Filch, the gnarled Caretaker who put dung beetles over children on a likeability scale. A surge of adrenaline shot through me—meddling and sadistic though he was, he could get us out of here, he could get _me _out of here; out of this mess, away from this jerk, just _out_!

"OI, FIL—_hmmphf_!"

My eyes incensed for probably the seventy-fifth time in the past hour as Wood's hand came crashing down over my mouth, muffling my cry for help as he met my outraged glare with his own. "Are you _mental_?" he hissed. "If Filch finds us in here, we'll both get detention for months!"

Wrenching my head to the side, I managed to free my mouth from his hands, glare still in tact. "You know, at this point, detention sounds like paradise compared to a whole night with you," I snarled, barely hesitating a moment before throwing my head back and yelling "FIILL—_mmmm_!"

This time, his hand clamped over my mouth with far more force, his other hand pulling me against him roughly so that he could better counteract my angry struggling. "_Damn it_, Wiles, don't you get it?" he growled into my ear, voice low but furious, "I get detention for a month, I can't play during the Slytherin final—hell, I can't even help the team bloody practi—"

Before he could finish, I jabbed my elbow back, hitting him square in the lower ribs and throwing him off just enough to free myself from his grasp. Deep down, I knew his points were logical, but I just wanted more than anything to get out of the stale, cramped room—seeing a window of opportunity to escape induced a frightening sense of claustrophobia, like it was either now or never. I'd take the full blame if I had to, I just wanted out, damn it!

"FIIILLLC—" I tried again, though before I could finish, Wood had wrenched me backward by my wrist, my back once again crashing against his chest.

"_Shut the hell up_, Andy!" he whispered harshly, keeping me pressed against him as he made to once again block my mouth, though I easily dodged it as I screamed again.

"HEEELL—"

Unable to muffle the noise enough, he grabbed my chin, wrenching it to the side roughly to meet his gaze. The abrupt motion cut me off, though it was more than just surprise that kept me silent for a moment longer.

His face was dangerously close. Far closer than it had ever been, even that time when we were fighting over my diary in the dormitory, and it made my pulse grow jagged. His eyes were burning into mine, full of anger and warning.

"Wiles—"

"Doesn't the idea of not being able to play crush you?" I suddenly asked, tone seething. "Doesn't it make absolutely everything seem inconsequential, because everything you've worked for amounts to nothing?" My voice shook with anger as I spoke, hoping for once, now that his position was at stake, he would realize just how much he'd taken away from me.

His gaze flickered momentarily, holding on to mine, though he promptly began shaking his head. "This is beyond you and me, Andy—there's no time to find another Keeper, the match is next week."

I merely held my glare, knowing the decision I was making was a selfish one, but at the same time, one that did to him exactly what he'd done to me. One that he bloody deserved. "Don't flatter yourself, Wood—they'll survive." And with that, I screamed bloody murder at the top of my lungs.

Word cursed violently under his breath, struggling to silence me, though it was to no avail—my voice was resonating off the walls. He was still angling my face with his hand, frustrated and furious, though after a moment, his eyes flashed with something glinting. Impulsive. Dangerous.

"You know what, Wiles," Wood hissed lividly, tilting my face close, "you want bloody unpredictable?" Something within me recognized the threat in the fury of his tone, making me hesitate ever so slightly, though right as I took a deep breath to continue screaming, he growled, "_Well, here you fucking go._"

And just as quickly as my screech began, it ended, for Wood's silencing mouth had roughly captured mine.


	11. Filch Hath No Fury Like an Andy Scorned

**Settling the Score**

Filch Hath No Fury Like an Andy Scorned

Time stopped.

Completely and totally stopped.

I'd always read about that happening in books, or seen it done with special effects in some B-rated epic romance film, but I'd never believed it could actually happen. At least, not without a time-turner or a really advanced Chronomentia spell.

However, with the back of my body flattened against Wood, his rough hand pressing against my hip-bone as the other slipped down the curve of my neck, lips moving deftly over mine, time had come to a complete and impenetrable halt.

It's odd, you usually think that your head would explode with a series of volcanic reactions and thoughts if something like this happened to you—that you'd be consumed by shock, anger, outrage, anything. But right now, the only thing I could feel was heat.

Dazed, hazy, burning heat.

Distantly, I felt myself kissing him back, my lips parting completely on their own accord as his mouth pressed on roughly, deepening the kiss. That was the extent of my brain's involvement, however—observation. My brain cells seemed to have conveniently shut off for the moment.

"…over here, my sweet? I ain't hearing nothin'…"

Neither of us acknowledged the sound of Filch's voice—on the contrary, my hand managed to find its way to Wood's face, slipping up the sharp line of his jaw before venturing into his thick, dark hair. This action seemed to encourage an instant reaction, for he swiveled me about with a gruff pull, his lips immediately recapturing mine as my chest collided with his.

"…bloody vermin run around the castle like it's a playground…"

His voice was getting louder, the raspy wheeze more distinguishable, though the heat of Wood's mouth on mine was making me dizzy, sending my thoughts into a chaotic spin where nothing made sense anymore. Amidst the hazy confusion, his arm had found its way around my waist, pressing me tightly against him as his other hand slipped into my wild tangle of curls.

"…let's see, shall we? There be no use in gettin' the keys if nobody be in there…"

I felt my arms instinctively wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer, giving in, wanting more—this was _ludicrous_! All sense of rationality within me was screaming for me to break away _now_, that I was going to severely regret every moment of this godforsaken kiss, but I repeat:

Rationality has never been a strong point of mine.

"Hello?" Filch's cold, raspy voice rattled, his shuddering breaths audible through the mottled wood of the door. A shadow had come over the crack under the door, blocking the faint light of the hallway and obscuring the stolen kiss in darkness. "Any of you vermin in there?"

A strange sense of urgency was starting to build between us now, for Wood's grip had tightened on my waist, his movements growing far rougher, hungrier. I could feel the air tighten around me as the threat of reality drew closer, for I knew that the instant we broke apart, realization would hit.

And it would hit _hard_.

"Speak now, you bloody rogues, or you'll be locked in there till t'morrah," he rasped, making a distant flag of caution shoot up inside me. My window of opportunity was slowly starting to shrink.

"An' tomorrow just so 'appens to be Hogsmeade, so I'm off me duty till night patrol," he wheezed, his voice taking on a strangely eerie quality. "No food, no water…"

My thoughts were swimming, the burning feeling of Wood's touch, taste, scent, everything making me unable to think properly. He was an intoxicating kisser, effortlessly reeling my thoughts back over to him whenever they began to teeter toward common sense.

In fact, every time Filch spoke, he'd do something—trail his fingertips along my neck, brush his thumb over my cheek, _anything_—to keep me distracted. In fact, it was almost like—like he was just…

And that's when reality hit, cold and hard, just as promised.

This sense of urgency, this uncanny ability to throw me off, this enthralling hunger in his kiss—it had nothing to do with the fact that he was snogging me. He was just trying to make me shut the fuck up.

Hell, he'd even _told_ me that beforehand, and yet here I was, snogging him back like a pathetic, easily-wooed idiot. Pulling him closer, unable to resist, briefly deluded into thinking he was actually _meaning_ it—oh, _God_, kill me!

Almost instantaneously, I broke away from him, shoving him backwards with as much strength as I could muster. An entirely different kind of heat than from earlier was flooding my cheeks, fueled by rage and embarrassment, stemming from my utter frustration with myself. How the _hell _could I have given in so bloody easily!?

This was all a strategic little ploy, and here I was, going along with it like it was sodding real!

"…you sure it was this one, Mrs. Norris? I still ain't hearin' nothing…"

Wood only seemed to have stumbled backwards a few inches, for I could still feel the warmth of his body. It simultaneously made me lightheaded and nauseous—I'd just snogged Wood. _Willingly. _I'd gone along with every touch, responded to every bloody move, let myself succumb to every sodding second of it—!

My eyes were incensed, electric with the rage that comes from embarrassment. During the entire blasted thing, he had probably been having a fucking field day in his sadistic little head—and there I was, _snogging _him.

Inhaling sharply, I raised my livid gaze up to his, preparing myself for the smug satisfaction that would undoubtedly be sparkling in his gaze. The derision, the mockery—it was all inevitable, and I wasn't sure I could handle it without throttling him to the ground.

However, to my slight surprise, all my gaze met was an entirely inscrutable face.

His amber eyes were unusually dark, betraying nothing but guarded observation. His eyebrows were drawn together over his gaze, and his lips were curved into the slightest of frowns. He almost looked… puzzled.

"…if you're in there, it's your last chance to speak up…"

Not knowing how to interpret such a vague look, I merely brushed it off, letting my anger swallow me as I tilted my chin up defiantly. If he thought he'd won, he was vastly mistaken. "There are two of us in here, Mr. Filch," I pronounced loud and clearly, eyes narrowing with satisfaction as Wood's intent expression broke.

"Oliver Wood and Andora Wiles," I clarified, more to be a bitch than anything. Wood closed his eyes, growling a curse under his breath—he knew he was officially fucked now, courtesy of a woman scorned.

"…seems you were mistaken, my sweet…"

My smug stare crumpled slightly—what?

"…ain't nobody here but you and me…"

I could feel Wood's eyes snap open, a faint sense of hope filling the air around him. "No, Filch—we're in here!" I announced, far louder than before. "Two students, locked in!"

"…should be going now, m'lady…"

"Filch!" I yelled, stalking over to the door and rapping on it fiercely. "Filch, we're in stuck in here! Students! Vermin! Rogues!"

However, all I received in response was a rather disgruntled meow and the sound of receding footsteps. Shocked, I watched as the old man's shadow flickered away from the doorway, making me feel horribly helpless. "FILCH!"

When nothing came from my final, desperate screech, I rounded on Wood, glare accusing. "What the hell did you do?"

Still somewhat out of it, Wood met my gaze. "I didn't—"

"I don't want to hear it!" I snapped irrationally, fully aware that I had just asked him a question but somehow unable to care. The last thing I needed to hear right now was some lewd, mocking comment.

His gaze crumpled with confusion, though I sent him a warning look as he made to speak. "Not a word," I growled, not knowing what he would say, but preferring silence over utter mortification.

Surprisingly obedient, he fell quiet.

For a few long moments, we both stood in a tense silence, unspoken thoughts racing through the dark air. After a while, he dropped his gaze downward, frown riddling his face as he immersed himself in thought. I simply began pacing—there were so many sordid emotions to sort out in my head, I didn't even know where to begin.

"I just want you to know that meant nothing to me," I suddenly heard myself snapping, tone petulant.

He glanced up from his thoughts, expression distant. "What?"

"That… _kiss_," I gritted out. "I know you probably think you swept me off my sodding feet, being the chauvinist git that you are, but I want you to know that you didn't—I was actually repulsed."

He merely held my stare for a moment, unfazed amber on defensive green, before dropping it back to the floor, totally dismissive. For some reason, this made me angrier.

"And you know what else?" I pressed on, feeling the need to keep talking, "you're lucky Filch has gone temporarily deaf, because that little episode qualifies as 'sexual harassment'—you may've heard of it, it's against the law."

Again, he merely ignored my huffy ranting, easing back against the wall as he let his eyes run over the shelves. My temper sparked—why the hell was he so bloody unfazed by everything all of a sudden?

"And don't think that I won't report this to Dumbledore the second I get out of here—if you think you're off the hook, you're sorely mistaken." I awaited his reaction, itching to elicit _something_, though to my immense annoyance, he remained careless and indifferent.

My glare sharpened, "And what's more—"

"Wiles, let's make a little agreement," he suddenly spoke, taking me a bit by surprise, "I shut up, you shut up—agreed?"

Caught slightly off-guard by his brusque tone, it took me a moment to answer. "I—no."

"No?"

"No," I repeated, expression stubborn.

"You might want to rethink that answer," he warned, eliciting a scoff from me.

"And why's that?"

Something shifted in his gaze, which narrowed as he eased himself off of the stone wall. "Because I've recently discovered a pretty damn effective way of _making _you shut up, but I get the subtle impression that you wouldn't like it very much."

My skin heated instantly at the comment, flustering me slightly as he moved closer. "Oh, _please_, Wood—the only way that would shut me up is if I died of horro—"

"You're still talking, Wiles."

"I'm well-aware of that, thanks," I snapped as he continued forward, taking an instinctive step back, "but I'm not just going to shut up whenever you want me to, so you might as well get used to the idea now."

His eyes rolled briefly as he continued closing in on me, "Still talking."

"Yeah, I am!" I retorted, feeling increasingly flustered as I took yet another step back, caught between wanting him to stop it already and proving that I'd shut up when I wanted to. "And for your information, I'll talk whenever I bloody well want to—"

"_Still _talking."

"I _know_, damn it, I'm proving a sodding point—"

My words halted as my back collided with the wall, suddenly incredibly aware of how small this damn room was. Glancing around a bit anxiously, I searched for the easiest route of escape, wondering if Wood would keep up this little tango all night.

"Are you done?" he asked, making my somewhat skittish gaze zero back onto him. He was a little less than an arm's length away, though he'd thankfully halted at my silence.

"You know what—_no_," I announced stubbornly, refusing to let him win this little game, stupid though it may be. "As a matter of fact, I'm—"

My words were cut off, however, as his hands firmly planted themselves on either side me. "I'll ask you again: are you done?"

My eyes widened—was he seriously _cornering_ me? "_What the hell do you think you're—_"

Again, I was cut off as his whole body pressed forward, all but flattening me against the wall. I nearly choked in a mixture of shock and outrage, meeting his eyes with a scandalized glare as my heart began pounding in my chest.

"Let's try this one more time," he drawled, eyes tinged with a hint of wryness as he lowered his face to mine, infuriatingly calm. Pausing just before his lips reached mine, he let himself linger, mouth curved ever so slightly. "Are. You. Done."

My heart fluttered despite itself, its beat jagged and irregular. Internally, I cursed myself, refusing to believe that any part of me was tempted to say 'no' for reasons other than proving my point. Wood's stare remained fixed on mine as I debated my answer, dark and roguish, daring me to refuse.

I must've contemplated too long, however, because after a few moments of silence, a slow smile pulled at his mouth. "That's what I thought," he murmured.

For a moment, he merely lingered there, lips hovering right above mine. However, the moment passed, and slowly, almost reluctantly, he pulled away.

My eyes flew shut as he pushed himself off the wall, drawing back as I exhaled in what I wouldn't acknowledge as anything other than relief. My whole body felt strangely skittish and cold without the heat of his, though I dutifully ignored this, leaning back against the cold wall instead.

A few feet away, I heard a bit of rustling, and I surmised that Wood had probably settled himself on the floor again. He sighed—a low, exhausted kind of sigh that briefly filled the room—though I could hear the hint of satisfaction in the sound. "Night, love."

My eyes fluttered open. "You're going to slee—"

"Ah, ah, ah," he tutted, sprawled out on the floor, eyes closed. "No talking."

"But—"

"Ah."

"Wood—"

"_Ah_."

"Damn it—"

"Don't make me go over there and snog you, Wiles."

Grudgingly, I fell silent, prompting a small smirk to curl itself onto his lips. Sighing irritably, I too slid down to the floor, landing in a rather uncomfortable heap on the hard stone. I tried in vain to get comfortable, though after a few futile attempts, I simply gave up.

Propping my head back against the wall, I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the chill of the night air. "Oh, and Wood?"

He grunted, clearly annoyed.

"I'm not your 'love'."

I didn't bother with checking his reaction, sensing the amusement almost instantly as he sighed. "Whatever you say."

I waited for it.

"Love."

I smirked, despite myself.

Prick.

* * *

"…how do you work this thing!?"

"_Shhhh_!"

"I'll bloody _shhhh _when you tell me how this works!"

"You press the button, moron!"

"Which button?"

"The only damn button on there!"

"Wh—"

Suddenly, a loud, blinding flash filled the room, filtering through my closed eyelids and making me stir slightly. Above me, the previous whispers subsided, though my brain wasn't really registering them anyway—all it registered was exhaustion.

Warmth, comfort, and exhaustion.

"D'ya reckon we woke her?"

"Not we—_you_."

"Oi, I'm not the one who—"

"All in favor of Alicia stuffing it say 'Aye'—_aye_."

"Aye."

"Bints."

Groaning, I tried to block out the pesky whispers, snuggling closer into my warm pillow. My body was heavy with sleep, and it responded accordingly as my pillow's arm pulled me closer, draped protectively over my waist.

All I wanted to do was sleep.

Sleep and sleep and—

Suddenly, two very disturbing things hit me. One: pillows don't have arms. Two: even if they did have arms, it wouldn't matter, because _I didn't have a bloody pillow_!

Suddenly very much awake, my eyes flew open, immediately wincing at the bright morning light. However, even in the sun's glare, I could make out Wood's bare chest beneath my arm, as well as the fact that my head was _nestled onto his shoulder. _

Far too hastily, I shot up, knocking my head into his chin in the process. I winced in pain as he groaned, clearly displeased with the rude awakening. Bringing my hand to my head, I rubbed the sore spot, cursing quite loudly under my breath.

And then a tiny little giggle made me freeze.

A tiny little strangely _Alicia-like _giggle.

"Merlin, she's so dim, it's almost cute."

A giggle who's owner was about to _die_.

Beside me, I felt Wood stirring into consciousness, blinking in confusion for a few moments before slowly sitting up. "What…?"

Tearing my gaze away from him, I brought it to the doorway instead, my eyes slitting dangerously at the sight before me. Angelina stood with a somewhat wary look, Katie's eyes were positively glowing, and Alicia merely smirked obnoxiously, camera in hand.

"Revenge," I croaked out in response to Wood, the raspy quality giving the word a slightly terrifying effect. "Revenge is what."

And before anyone could respond, I'd scrambled to my feet, letting out a war-like growl as I charged.


	12. The Seeker Doth Protest Too Much

**Settling the Score**

The Seeker Doth Protest Too Much Methinks

"…still can't believe you _attacked_ me," Alicia was muttering, still in the process of combing out her pretty blonde curls after I'd considerably ruffled them up earlier that day. Sitting cross-legged on her bed, she kept sending cutting little glares in my direction, shamelessly exaggerating the bruise on her arm. "Of all the crude, cavemen like things to do…"

"You'll get over it," I responded flatly, in an inexplicably edgy mood. Actually, it wasn't inexplicable at all—it made perfect sense. You see, generally when one has to dream up a way to tell one's insufferable best mates that one might've accidentally snogged one's evil ex-Quidditch Captain, one gets fucking irritated.

"Yeah? Try telling me that when I die of internal bleeding," she snapped, ever the hypochondriac.

Should I just come out and say it? Pull an Alicia and be up-front and blunt about it, pretending it didn't matter? I mean, not that it did or anything—it was just a stupid ploy.

"Oh, wait—you won't be able to, seeing as I'll be _dead_."

"Oh, shut up already, Spinnet," Angelina tossed out, tone bored as she lounged back on her bed, knitting needles abandoned beside her. She was staring at the canopy with a rather pensive expression—something she'd come to do a lot ever since she'd started dating Fred. It was nice, seeing her letting loose and wasting time for a change. Usually, every moment had to be marked by some sort of productivity for her, but lately, she seemed perfectly fine with just kicking back and relaxing. They were brilliant for each other, those two—I think I actually saw Fred doing a homework assignment the other day.

"Go suck up to a professor," Alicia snapped in response.

"Go stalk a gay bloke," Angelina retorted easily.

Alicia inhaled sharply, expression wildly dramatic. "I do not _stalk_ Sebastian."

Maybe I should explain the situation to them first—you know, tell them exactly what was going on? The snog would make a hell of a lot more sense if they understood it was purely to keep me quiet, and it would probably eliminate a lot of squealing on Katie's part… but still, I feel like they'd get it wrong. Goddamnit.

"Oh, _please_, Ally—you treat every article he writes in that damn newspaper like it's the sodding gospel," Katie, who up to this point had been far too immersed in _Pride and Prejudice_ to show any vocal capacity, chimed in.

"The _Weekly Wobbler_ is not just some 'damn newspaper'—it's really prestigious! And he's incredibly talented!"

"No, you're just incredibly impressionable—I mean, really, legalizing Cornish pixie dust? _Honestly_."

"You lot just aren't open-minded enough to understand how beautiful of a person he is."

"Or we're just too rational to buy into that bollocks."

I could try to make a joke of it—you know, show that it all meant absolutely positively 100% nothing to either of us? 'Did you hear the one about Wood and I snogging in a broom closet? Side-splitter, that one!' I sighed in frustration—stupid idea.

"Well, we obviously have two very different ideas of what 'bollocks' is."

"Yeah, and yours is bollocks."

"That's just semantics, Katie!"

"Oh, you and your bloody semantics…"

"Regardless."

Maybe if I just casually mentioned it to each of them individually, I wouldn't have to deal with a big, melodramatic confrontation from all three at once. They were a ganging-up prone lot, though, so they'd probably find a way to corner me at one point or another…

"I just think that you should take his ideas with a grain of salt, Alicia."

"I do! I don't just lap up everything he says—I don't _worship_ him or anything."

"And I quote, 'He's just such a beautiful person'…"

"That doesn't mean I worship him, I just find beauty in idiosyncratic and anomalous things!"

"Oh, _ple_—"

"I kissed Wood," I finally blurted out.

Simple as that.

No interlude, no preamble, no postscript, nothing. Just a simple, straight-forward 'I. Kissed. Wood.'

Good plan, right?

Wrong.

A silence quieter than I've ever heard in my entire life fell over the room. It wasn't a sudden silence, either—everything had slowly drawn to a halt. Katie, Angelina, and Alicia seemed to have completely frozen, their petty quarrel forgotten.

Well. This was fun.

Wordless tension seeped into the room, suspending itself right around me. I couldn't really bring myself to look at their faces right now; the last thing I wanted to see was a slew of gobsmacked expressions. My skin itched with irritation at the idea, annoyed with the fact that they couldn't see the event for what it was: fake. Totally and completely meaningless. Not even worth a second thought.

Somewhere, deep down, I knew I was getting a bit defensive, but I couldn't help my annoyance. Their inevitable shock made the whole scenario a hell of a lot more real, and that was hard to deal with when I was set on believing that it wasn't real at all. Granted, I knew I was being rather unfair—I hadn't properly explained the situation or anything. I couldn't expect them to recognize it for the joke that it is unless they knew the circumstances. Obviously they have every right to be shocked. I mean, honestly, who on earth would've ever, in a million years seen _this_ comi—

"Oh, piss."

"Ten galleons each, please!"

"Don't be such a cow, Alicia."

"No one likes a sore loser, Kats."

"I was one sodding week off—Katie was _months_, and we still have to pay the same?"

"A bet's a bet, darling dears. This is brilliant—on Hogsmeade weekend, too."

I blinked a few times, instantly confused by the easy, casual nature of their voices—had they not registered what I'd just said? I glanced around to see Alicia grinning smugly, beckoning with her hand for Katie and Angelina to square their mysterious debts. My glower crumpled into a look of confusion—what the bloody hell?

"You couldn't have held it off for _four more days_?" Angelina grumbled, shooting me a disgruntled look as she dug into her wallet. I fumbled for words for a moment, eyes burning with disorientation.

"Held off what?" I was suddenly more annoyed than before. I mean, I know I said that last thing I wanted was some big, melodramatic moment of shock, but honestly, they were treating my earth-shattering announcement like the local weather report. I mean, yeah, the kiss didn't mean anything, but it still had to be one of the most unexpected turn of events—

"Snogging Wood," Angelina snapped, sifting through her coins with a distinctly annoyed air. "I mean, we knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, but if you'd just resisted a little sodding longer, I would've had enough pocket change to get those shoes on display at Genevieve's."

"Oh, you mean the red stilettos with the little bow things?" Katie clarified, tone relaxed and conversational as she flopped back into her armchair, having carelessly dumped her galleons all over Alicia's bed. "Those were adorable."

"I know," Angelina muttered, shooting me yet another annoyed look as she dragged herself over to Alicia's bed. "And thanks to that one's lack of self-control, they won't be on my feet anytime soon—I really think the broom-closet scenario made this horribly unfair."

"Agreed—we made our predictions way before that was even in the picture," Katie pointed out.

"Well, that'll teach you to have a bit of foresight next time," Alicia trilled, offhandedly catching sight of my expression and grinning. "Oh, right—thanks for being a whore, Andy."

I was honestly flabbergasted. Completely and thoroughly flabbergasted. In any other scenario, I'd probably contemplate how fucking weird the word 'flabbergasted' was, but today, I had bigger issues.

"You three… made a bet?"

Angelina raised a brow, expression clearly implying 'Um, duh.' Alicia cocked her head to the side, eyes crinkled in contemplation. "D'ya reckon getting snogged senseless makes you stupider?"

Katie nodded, munching contently on a licorice wand. "I'm starting to think so—every time Angelina gets back from 'studying' with Fred, her IQ's in the negatives."

"Is not!"

"Yesterday in Astronomy, you asked me where earth was."

"_When did you make a bet_?" I demanded, voice growing angrier with every second of dawning realization. These three… these three were just… bloody hell, they were un-sodding-_believable_! First I'm kidnapped, then I'm locked into a broom closet, and now this?

"Around the time when Alicia caught you straddling Wood on your bed," Katie responded, chewing mindlessly.

"WHAT!?"

"Oh, don't act like you don't remember in vivid detail," Alicia tutted, rolling her eyes. "I walked in on you, you were supposedly fighting over some diary, blah, blah, blah, insert sexual tension here…"

"Alicia, that was _not_—"

"Save it, Andy, I saw it with my own eyes," the blonde interjected, absently chewing on her nail. "Oi, does anyone have a nail file?"

"Oh, I saw one somewhere…"

"Check in that drawer—"

"STOP!" I bellowed, overwhelmed with the need to be taken seriously—I felt like I was in a parallel sodding universe, here! There were treating this like it was no big deal at all, like they'd seen it coming for ages and it was 'about time'. When three faces turned to look at me, finally falling silent, I let out a frustrated breath. "Just… let me explain," I managed, holding my palms up to keep them from interrupting. "The kiss didn't mean anything."

Angelina snorted, Alicia rolled her eyes, and Katie hid a wry smile.

"No, honestly, it was purely strategic," I argued further, my irritation evident. "Wood just… needed a way to keep me quiet so Filch wouldn't hear and suspend him from the Quidditch final."

Angelina's eyes suddenly widened, her knitting coming to a halt. "You mean that Silencing charm didn't work? I spent three hours mastering that stupid spell! Merlin, I _told_ you to do it, Kats, you're better at Char—"

"No, no, it worked," I assured, interrupting her rant, "it definitely worked, but neither of us knew about it, so Wood resorted to…" I momentarily blanked at the memory, my train of thought instantly replaced by the scorching feeling of his lips on mine, his hands sliding up my waist, my fingers in his hair…

Alicia arched a brow. "Snogging you."

I blinked a few times, refocusing my gaze. "Right."

Angelina snorted at this, rolling her eyes. "And the idea of just covering your mouth with his hand entirely slipped his mind?"

My gaze flattened. "No, actually—he tried that. It just… wasn't very effective."

"What'd you do, bite him?" Katie asked, laughter in her tone.

"Something like that…"

Alicia smirked. "Kinky."

I tossed her a glare, wondering if it was healthy to contemplate murdering my best mates so often. However, despite my irritation, I couldn't get my thoughts to entirely refocus back to the present. With every aspect of last night I retold, the memory would come flooding back—the heat, the dark amber stare, the rakish half-smile. It was kind of hard to focus on anything else.

"So, after a good bit of sexually charged struggling, he just damned it all to hell and snogged you senseless," Katie sighed, the tone in her voice predictably romanticizing the whole thing.

My stare darkened, though again, the feeling of his fingers angling my chin, his eyes burning angrily, the roughness of his voice right before his kissed me—all of it momentarily took over. Caught in the feeling, my ears sort of hummed, dimming reality as his molten eyes grew brighter, clearer. '_You want unpredictable, Wiles?_'

"Andy?"

"Yeah, yeah—definitely," I answered automatically, shaking myself out of the memory. It was only when I was met with three extremely smug, suggestive smirks that I balked. "Wait, what?"

"I asked you if his snogs are as ridiculously hot as he is," Alicia clarified, lips curled upward.

My glare flattened as I contextualized my answer, realizing what I'd just admitted to. Scratch that—not _admitted_, ew. That makes it sound like it's true.

"Nothing about Wood is ridiculously hot," I settled with instead, defiance edging my voice. Except for, you know, his body, which I guess _some_ people could consider, fit. And I suppose his smile isn't exactly _horrible_, either, if you're into that cocky sort of thing. And his accent—

"Oliver is bloody fit as hell, Andy—he may be our captain, and we may not see him that way, but there's no denying that," Angelina attested, very matter-of-fact. "Fit is fit. I don't think there's a single one of us who didn't have a huge crush on him when we first joined the team."

Katie snorted. "I know that's right—took me weeks to be able to look him in the eye without stuttering. Crazy how that changes, isn't it?"

Alicia nodded, grimacing. "Gorgeous as he is, he's turned into such a brother figure over the years—we just don't have that spark."

"Same. Pity, isn't it?" Angelina sighed, lips curved at the corners as Katie nodded, wistful.

I stared at them, perplexed. Did they really all feel so comfortable with him? So… sibling-like? Never in my six years of knowing him was there a moment that wasn't charged with tension. With him, it was a constant battle to outdo each other: to get under the other's skin skin, make the other bristle, get the best of each other—make each other _mad_. It was the infuriating truth of it all, and yet here were three of my best mates, chatting about him like some protective older brother.

"With this stubborn cow, however," Alicia continued from earlier, eyes snapping over to indicate me, "he doesn't just have a spark—he has a whole bloody lightning storm."

Katie sighed longingly, sinking deep into her armchair. "God, that's so unfair. You're the Angelina to his Fred."

Angelina rolled her eyes at that, fighting back a smile. "Cute, Katie."

Honestly, these three are delusional. Completely and totally delusional. They mistake hatred for attraction, bickering for flirting, I-want-to-strangle-you looks for I-want-to-shag-you looks—all around _delusional_. "Okay, guys, really—get serious. The only reason Wood isn't a big brother to me is because he's too much of a dick, and I refuse to think of that as inherent in my gene pool; the only way there'd ever be a spark between us is if I electrocuted him; and the day he get's as reckless as Fred and I get as responsible as Angelina, thus making us perfect for each other, is the day hell hosts the Winter Olympics. Understand?"

Katie merely buried herself back into her book, murmuring something that sounded dangerously like, "The lady doth protest too much, methinks…"

Angelina subtly went back to her knitting, also murmuring slyly, "The first step is denial…"

Alicia's lips curled promiscuously. She didn't even bother to mutter anything under her breath or look away—she stared dead on, smirking. "The last step is shagging in an abandoned classroom." Subtlety was never her forte.

I rolled my eyes, wrenching the hair tie off my wrist and pulling my hair into a tight bun. "You know what? I'm just going to go for a run—fresh air seems like better company than you three."

"Kay."

"Later."

"Bye."

I merely shook my head, grabbing my trainers off the floor as I headed for the doorway. Hell, a hippogriff sounded like better company than those three. At least they couldn't second-guess your every word. As I headed down the stairs, slight scowl on my face, a familiar, tinkling little laugh met my ears. It was one that instinctively made my scowl deepen, for it to belonged to a pointy-faced, blonde haired bint that just so happened to be Gryffindor's new Seeker.

"He's _so_ horrible—Oliver, tell them what you told the poor girl," Fiona trilled, voice delighted. Skin prickling at the name, I glanced over to the center of the common room. Fiona, Wood, and a few other seventh years were sprawled along the couches, talking and laughing around the fire. Fiona had her hand on Wood's forearm as she spoke to him, hazel eyes glittering. He merely lolled his head back on the couch, roguish grin on his lips. "I didn't tell her anything…"

"Oh, please," Fiona responded, turning to face the rest of the group, manicured fingers still perched on Wood's arm, "he told her that he was a figment of her imagination!"

The group started chuckling at the story, which seemed rather stupid in my completely unbiased opinion, though my gaze was riveted on Fiona's hand. It was pale and ivory, contrasting starkly against Wood's tan, smooth skin. It looked decidedly out of place in my once again completely unbiased opinion, though before I could look away, a rowdy voice called my name.

"Oi, Andy!"

My stare shot up, rocketing away from Wood as fast as humanly possible and landing on Gabriel Harris, a scruffy bloke from my Arithmancy class. We'd been assigned partners for two years in the class, and we got on amazingly well—he was a hysterical guy. "Alright, Gabe?" I asked, mustering a smile as I made my way down the stairs. I could feel Wood's gaze on me, along with Fiona's, along with everyone's, for that matter.

"No, I'm actually devastated," he griped, expression melodramatic. "I'm missing my Arithmancy whiz—you haven't been in class since Wednesday. Vector speaks and I look to my left for a translation, and all I see is blank space."

I grinned despite myself: Gabe really was a disaster at Arithmancy. "There's this earth-shattering thing called a book, Harris—dig around somewhere under your bed and you might actually be able find it. Blow off the dust and read."

His lips twisted into a grin. "How about we meet up at the Three Broomsticks and you casually slip me the answers to the study guide?"

I snorted, eyes veering into a roll—he didn't even try to disguise his desire to cheat, he just put it right out there. "Gabe, sooner or later, you're going to have to actually _learn_ Arithmancy. Make it sooner—go study."

Angelina would be proud.

Some of his friends '_ohhh_'ed, making my grin widen as I shook my head, reaching the bottom of the stairs. "You're a heartbreaker, Andy Wiles!" he called from behind me, voice rich with humor. I glanced over my shoulder to send him a final smile, raising my hand to wave, though instead of meeting playful green eyes, I met hazy amber. Wood's stare was curious as it held mine, lips curved ever so slightly at the corners. His dark brows were drawn together over his face, and he seemed vaguely… amused.

Beside him, Fiona's stare was crystal blue and cutting. Subtle, but cutting. It averted the moment I met it, fixing instead on Wood's mildly curious expression. Facially, she didn't react, but her hand subtly slipped from his arm to his knee. "Oliver, did you ever make that list of new feints for me to try?" she asked, the picture of cool innocence. My blood sparked into a simmer—of course she would mention Quidditch. "Because I was watching some of the Gryffindor tapes from last season, and I think I can take it up a few notches. Less blind luck, more precision, you know?"

My jaw nearly dropped in outrage—was she _joking_? That was a direct attack on me. That bint! She couldn't have pulled off half the bloody feints I had!

Coolly, her eyes met mine, frosty ice on burning fire. Unable to do anything but scowl at the cattiness emitting from her, I swallowed my retort, composing myself. This wasn't like a fight with Wood, where I could yell any snappy reply that came to mind and be done with it, this was more… delicate. Refined. The most cutting reply would be silence. God, I hate being a girl.

Gathering my wits, I simply swiveled about, catching a final glimpse of Wood's clearly entertained expression before stalking off. The run that followed was long and hard. Originally, I'd planned something somewhat short and light—nothing more than a few miles of fresh air to clear my head. After my little run-in with Fiona, however, seven and a half miles of hard, steady jogging ensued—thoughtless, frustration-driven jogging that got my heart pounding and put my racing mind on standby.

Hence, when I waltzed back into the Common Room a few hours later, I was tired and only slightly less irritable. My dark curls were in utter disarray, my cheeks were prickled with blush from the cold, and my questions and frustrations were still just as answered as before. This was why, when I spotted Wood leaning against the railing of the Girl's stairwell, my immediate reaction was to scowl. Well, actually, that's a lie—my heartbeat actually got a bit erratic first, and then I scowled. What the hell was he doing there? It was one in the sodding morning on a Sunday.

His expression was bemused as I approached the stairway. "What did you do, hike the Forbidden Forest? You were gone for hours."

My brow furrowed, gaze annoyed. "You were counting?"

"Kind of."

"That's not creepy or anything."

He rolled his eyes. "I needed to talk to you."

I came to halt at the base of the stairs, crossing my arms as I stood before him. "Well?" This better not be about what happened in the broom-closet—I swear to Merlin, if this is about what happened in the broom-closet—

"So, about what happened in the broom-closet…"

My gaze flattened, heat rising in my cheeks. Of course. "Look, you don't have to explain, I get it."

His gaze flickered with surprise, brow arching over his slight frown. "Really?"

"Yeah, it was obvious," I said, feeling decidedly uncomfortable in the awkward situation.

His gaze was oddly skeptical as it held mine, and he slowly eased back against the railing, arms folding across his chest. "Explain it to me, then."

My eyes narrowed—he thought I didn't realize it had meant nothing. Merlin, what a prick; I'm not that stupid. "Well, I was yelling, you needed a way to shut me up," I stated simply, eyes hard-edged as his lips twitched.

Were was this constant sodding amusement suddenly coming from?

"I'm not as thick as you think, Wood—I didn't go off swooning thinking it was real," I snapped, defensive. "I know you assume that because I, you know, kissed you back, I thought the whole thing actually meant something, but I didn't. I just… well, I don't know, really, but I do know that you don't have to explain it to me."

His eyes held mine, seemingly caught between a mixture of wryness and cynicism. He was watching me like I was a puzzling, mildly intriguing television show, and I wasn't particularly enjoying it. "_What_?"

"You're sure about this," he affirmed, raising a brow.

"Completely."

"One-hundred percent?"

"One-hundred percent."

"Not even entertaining any other theories?"

"None."

If he really thought I was going to stand there and tell him, 'Actually, I couldn't manage a single coherent thought after that bloody snog, so maybe there was a bit more to the whole thing'—he was sorely mistaken. If anything, it would just boost his ego, and Merlin knows that was the last thing he needed.

After a quiet moment, his lips curled into a half-smile. "Well, that makes this conversation a hell of a lot easier."

For some reason, something clenched within me. "Happy to help," I replied, unable to shake off the feeling of finality—hearing it confirmed by him just made the truth of it all a bit… harsher.

"Friends?"

I snorted, shaking myself out of the tense feeling. "Hardly."

"People who occasionally tolerate each other?"

"Better."

Smirking slightly, he held out his hand, offering a truce of sorts. Rolling my eyes briefly, I took it, preparing to shake it—though I was roughly cut off as he tugged me forward, pulling me against him. Before I could say anything, his lips had captured mine, this kiss considerably softer and lighter than the last. I was a bit too shocked to respond at first, not expecting a snog of all things after that particular conversation, though my eyes eventually fluttered close, my lips carelessly giving in to his.

It only lasted for a few, fleeting moments before he slowly pulled away, eyes meeting with mine. I didn't need a mirror to tell me the expression my gaze held: perplexed, hazy, a bit dazed, even. His, however, looked perfectly calm and controlled—slightly amused, even.

"I… we… people who occasionally tolerate each other don't generally do that…" was all I managed to convey, still a bit intoxicated by his proximity.

His lips curled at the ends, expression cryptic. "No," he agreed, shaking his head. "No, they don't."

Well, great. Now that that's settled.

After a few more moments, he lowered his lips yet again, though this time they brushed against my forehead instead, kiss simple and featherlight. "Goodnight, Wiles."

With that, he let go of my hand, backing away and heading toward the stairway to the blokes' rooms. I stared at him the entire way, utterly and completely confused. What the _hell_ was that supposed to mean? This very sentiment echoed through my thoughts as I silently crawled into my bed, my mind racing with even more bloody questions than it had been entertaining before. Was he playing some sort of game or something? Was I some pawn he was having a jolly good time toying around with, or was he being serious?

I hated not knowing any of this, and for that reason, I merely sighed, turning over beneath my sheets with a grumble. However, something crinkled noisily beneath me, and I frowned, fishing beneath the torrent of sheets for the offending object. My fingers curved over something small and flat—a paper of sorts, and I squinted in the dim moonlight as I brought it up to my face. I scowled almost instantaneously. Those bints. Of course they would put it on my pillow.

Growling something mildly profane, I stared at the caption on the Polaroid—'Get it! _Rawr_!' My eyes rolled briefly, lowering to the actual picture. The moment captured by Katie's handy little camera was an incredibly rare one—Wood and I, completely at peace, asleep in each other's arms. My expression couldn't help but soften as my gaze ran over the photo. I was curled up against his side, my head resting on the curve of his shoulder, his head resting atop mine. My hand was strewn carelessly over his stomach, fingers loose and relaxed, whereas his arm was draped protectively across my waist. It was uncanny, how deceitful a picture could be. In that little snapshot, we looked like two people who could stand each other—hell, who bloody adored each other—when in reality, we were… we were…

Well, we were people who occasionally tolerated each other. And before two seconds ago, I knew exactly what that meant. Now I have absolutely no idea.

Tossing the picture away, I sighed, flopping back into my pillow.

Oliver Wood was one of the most infuriatingly confusing people I'd ever met in my entire life.


	13. Nice Girls Finish Last

**Settling the Score**

Nice Girls Finish Last

I'm going to be _nice_ today.

I decided that the second my eyes opened.

You see, I woke up this morning feeling strangely refreshed. Perhaps it was because of my run, or perhaps it was because I hadn't gotten much sleep due to certain… you know, _situations_ earlier that weekend, but for some reason or other, I'd slept deeply through the entire night, and now I was rather ready for a brand new day.

To hell with confusion and contemplating things—life was for living, and that's exactly what I intended to do. Heading over to the bathroom in a decidedly good mood, I went through my morning routine, taking a bit more time to ensure my bun looked a bit less… messy.

Slipping on the plaid skirt and white Oxford shirt, I chanced a glance at Angelina's dresser, seeing a mahogany eyeliner pencil lying abandoned on the otherwise perfectly organized surface. What the hell—why not?

…I quickly found out 'why not' when I accidentally stabbed myself in the eye. You'd think a former Seeker would have better hand-eye coordination. Alright—reroute: after yanking on the prescribed black tights and penny-loafers, I instead dashed a bit of color onto my cheeks, finding the soft brush far less lethal than the stick-o-death.

A few minutes later, I was waltzing into the Great Hall, ready for an easy, healthy morning breakfast with my friends. There was only one problem with the aforementioned scenario—my friends.

"I heard you and Oliver got it on in a broom-closet," Fred announced the instant his eyes met mine, roguish grin on his lips. Angelina immediately elbowed him in the ribs quite fiercely, forcing a 'he's such a joker' smile at me as Fred winced. "Bloody hell, woman—wear a sign when you're PMSing."

Too hell-bent on seeing out my good mood for the rest of the day to get angry, I merely brushed the comment off, taking a seat next to Katie. "Morning, everyone."

"Have you been out in the sun, Andy?" George asked, brows furrowing as he eyed me curiously. "You look a bit sun-burned—"

"Can you pass me the fruit, Lee?" I interjected hastily, cursing my stupid experiment with blush—I should've known nothing good would come from that. On the back it said 'Get that sun-kissed look in seconds!', though I suppose by 'sun-kissed' it meant 'skin cancer'.

"So, Andy," Lee began, dark gaze intent as he handed me the bowl of assorted fruit, "we never had a chance to really chat about… kaleidoscopes. "

I raised a brow, expression perplexed as I started dumping a healthy serving onto my plate. "What?"

"Kaleidoscopes…" he repeated slowly, behavior frightfully conspicuous. "You know… kaleidoscopes…"

Digging my fork into a pineapple slice, my gaze grew pointed. "Lee, repeating the same word over and over again isn't going to do mu—" My eyes suddenly widened, the epiphany hitting hard. "Fuck! Kaleidoscopes!"

"Yeah, kaleidoscopes!" he agreed, nodding emphatically. His split-second glance at the oblivious girl next to me merely confirmed my fear—he was talking about Katie. God, couldn't he just let that go already? I don't even know if she still fancies him!

"No, no—_no_ kaleidoscopes," I affirmed, shaking my head a bit anxiously. "That's not, you know, table conversation."

Fred snorted. "How scandalous can a kaleidoscope get?"

"Why are we talking about kaleidoscopes, exactly?"

"What the hell is a kaleidoscope?"

"It's a little telescope-like bugger with patterns and colors and whatnot—"

"We're done talking about kaleidoscopes!" I interjected, flustered. My good mood was slowly chipping away, courtesy of the mutants I inexplicably refer to as 'friends', and it was driving me crazy.

"Ah, snippiness," Fred intoned gravely, leaning over to George with a rueful expression, "side-effect of snogging your enemy."

My fork screeched against my plate at the words, coming to a halt at the very edge. Was he _seriously_ bringing that up again?

"Is it really?" George asked, tone genuinely curious—the casual way they were chatting made it all the more infuriating.

"Oh, yeah—Johnson kicked me the first time I snogged her," Fred disclosed, wincing at the memory, "nearly fractured my shin." Upon noticing the very pointed expression Angelina was wearing, however, he forced a quick grin. "Totally worth it, of course—enemy snogs always are, just ask Andy."

I slammed my fork down a bit roughly in frustration, letting it clatter against my plate. Could the idiot not take a sodding hint—clearly I didn't want to talk about it! However, before I could growl out some sort of scathing response, I remembered my resolution to be nice.

Grudgingly, I slumped down into my seat, forcing down my irritation with a sharp sigh. Picking up my fork, I resumed waging war on my fruit salad, expression slightly sour.

"Andy… what exactly are you doing?" George asked, raising a brow.

He was staring at me oddly, green gaze following the path of my fork as I assaulted my fruit salad quite violently. "Eating," I managed in as pleasant a tone as possible, struggling to hold back a scowl as I speared a grape with a frightening amount of force, "sometimes humans do that."

Nice-thoughts-nice-thoughts-nice-thoughts.

"You know, you seem a bit…" He watched as the grape split in half from the violence of my action, raising a brow. "...angry this morning."

The corners of my lips twitched manically in protest of the smile I was forcing on them, "Angry?" I echoed lightly. "Not at all! I'm in a _great_ mood."

Fred's face suddenly brightened with mischief. "Good, 'coz George and I have this little favor to ask of you—we were wondering if you could seduce Oliver into giving us the day off tomorrow; you know, offer him a more _scintillating_ alternative?"

My knuckles grew white around the fork I was now strangling, expression tightening dramatically.

"Merlin, I'm dating a sodding idiot," Angelina muttered ruefully, shaking her head, "let's go for a little walk, Weasley—we can learn some 'do's and 'don't's on how to avoid getting murdered," she said, grabbing said idiot by the forearm and pulling him to his feet.

"But my bacon—"

"We'll get you more bacon later…"

As the two walked off, Fred sending longing glances over his shoulder at his plate of half-eaten bacon every so often, I took a few moments to settle down. Jesus, as if dealing with my own reaction to The Snog (I wasn't even going to think about The Second Snog) wasn't difficult enough—now I had other people's reactions to deal with, as well.

Fred's M.O., it seemed, was mention it every five bloody seconds. And he only knew about the first one. Bloody hell, there was more than one—this was ridiculous.

"Oi, Alicia – why'd you paint your nails_ black_?" George randomly piped up, scrunching his nose at the gothic color coating Alicia's nails.

"My horoscope said it was my lucky color this month," she replied pertly, as if it wasn't the world's most idiotic answer ever.

Predictably, George snorted, making Alicia's stare snap over to his. "Don't you snort at me."

"I can snort at whoever I want to."

"Not at me!"

"I'm pretty sure I just did."

"And clearly I'm not letting you get away with it—moot point!"

"This is such a stupid argument."

"Only because you're losing it."

Unfazed by the whole thing, George merely shook his head, careless grin in its dutiful place. "Fine."

In light of my rather _delicate_ mood, I welcomed the distraction of their aimless arguing with open arms. It was always rather funny to watch Alicia and George squabble, anyway—Alicia always got _really_ angry _really_ easily and George was totally impervious to her 'insults', for lack of a better word.

"Bloody hell, it's 8:28?" Katie squeaked, staring at her watch with wide-eyes. Transfiguration started in two minutes, and she had a bit of a history with tardiness in McGonagall's class. "Damn it, I've got to go, guys—see you later."

"I'll come with you," Lee said abruptly, speaking for the first time in a solid five minutes. Scraping his chair back and rising to his feet before I could form any coherent sort of protest, he offered Katie an awkward hand to help her up.

For a moment, she simply stared at his hand, confused. "Lee, you're not in Transfiguration."

"No, I'm—I mean, yeah, I know I'm not, but," he replied, seeming a bit out of it, "I need to go… by it… to… you know, do something."

Katie arched a brow. "Now?"

He merely nodded a bit shiftily. "Right now—it's an important… something."

"…alright," Katie said, still looking thoroughly puzzled as she shot Alicia and me quick look. I shrugged as convincingly as I could, feeling Alicia do the same as I tried to swallow the knot forming in my stomach.

This was bad. This was very, very bad. I should start counting the number of breaths I have left, because the second Lee spits out what I told him a few weeks ago, I'm done for. Kats is an extremely privacy-oriented person—when she confides in you, it's a life and death sort of thing.

Right now I'm looking at a pretty nasty death sentence.

Glancing away, Katie took his outstretched hand a bit reluctantly, not expecting this sudden and rather random show of gentlemanliness. Brows knitted, she wandered out of the Great Hall with Lee, whom I could've sworn put his hand on the small of her back as he ushered her through the door.

Averting my stare, I felt the knot of dread twist further—God only knew what uncomfortable and potentially life-threatening conversation was about to ensue.

"Well, that was horrendously awkward," Alicia observed, staring at the spot the pair had just disappeared through with a twisted look on her face. It was strange to see such pretty features bearing such ugly facial expressions, but that was Alicia for you.

"Yeah—I dunno what's been going on with Lee lately, but he's been acting all dazed like," George agreed, brows drawn together in a contemplative fashion.

Alicia frowned suspiciously. "Odd."

George nodded. "Very."

I simply sunk further into my seat, my nose practically level with the surface of the table. I suddenly found the particular grain of the wood absolutely fascinating.

"Speaking of odd," George began, cocking his head to the side as his gaze landed on me, "Andy appears to be melting."

Alicia rolled her eyes, "Oh, she's just mortified about the whole ravaging Oliver thi—

"Oliver, mate!" George greeted loudly, cutting Alicia off just a smidge too late to save whatever was left of my shattered dignity.

"Speak of the devil," Alicia grinned, not a shred of shame visible in her bright blue eyes, "we were just talking about you…"

By this point, my head had sunken beneath the tabletop, my back entirely meshed to the bottom of my chair. Case-in-point: I was finding new friends. Now. I had to, before both my pride and sanity were lost forever.

"Right, yeah—listen," I heard Wood say from above the table, a distracted quality to his voice, "I need you two at the pitch at exactly five o' clock. No excuses, no exceptions—five sharp, is that clear?"

Had I not been in the midst of a mental breakdown, I would have snorted—how typical. The two-day stretch before the big Slytherin match had finally arrived, and Wood was in all out Quidditch-Nazi mode.

"Perfectly clear," George replied, matching Alicia's innocent smile.

"Crystal."

"Good," Wood said, oblivious to the slightly sardonic edge in their replies, "I've already told Angelina and Fred, but I can't seem to find Ka—wait, is that her under the table?"

I tensed slightly, feeling the heat of his gaze skimming my hair.

"No, she's off having a really awkward experience with Lee," Alicia remarked offhandedly, inspecting her emo-colored nails. "The freak under the table is Andy."

Figuring this was as good a cue as any, I slowly slid up my seat, offering an uncomfortable smile as three different pairs of eyes stared at me. "Er, found it!"

Alicia frowned. "Found what?"

"My… you know…"

"Oh, good," George cut in with a nod, a tinge more perceptive than Alicia. "That'd be bad if you lost your… you know." I fought back a fierce glare as he smirked.

"Anyway," Wood said a bit dismissively, shifting the topic back to Quidditch, "if either of you see Bell, make sure to tell her about the time change."

"Sure thing," George replied with a nod, "five-thirty, right?"

Wood's jaw tensed, "No, _five_—"

"Joke," George interjected, slowly raising his palms in defense.

"That means he was kidding," Alicia clarified unnecessarily, making George shoot her an odd look.

"Right," Wood said, entirely unamused, "well, I have some Arithmancy to finish up—I'll see you at the pitch, then."

"Till five," George agreed, and Alicia merely gave an airy wave. For a moment, I mentally debated whether I should make some sort of goodbye-motion or not, though before I could reach a definitive conclusion he was off, movements just a bit tenser than usual.

Somewhere beneath my relieved expression, I frowned. That was a bit… dismissive.

"Oh, joy," Alicia drawled, "he's back into Mr. Growlsworth mode."

Mr. Growlsworth was a nickname that Alicia had dreamed up for Wood a good two years ago, and to this day she was the only one who ever used it. She was also the only one who found it even remotely funny.

"Two-day stretch," George supplied with a shrug, "what can you do?"

"Um, nothing."

George merely rolled his eyes, "Ever heard of a rhetorical question, Spinnet?"

"Obviously."

"Yeah, well you just answered two in a row."

"I'm going to go," I announced abruptly, sitting up in my seat. I wasn't sure why, exactly, but I was suddenly struck by an intense need to just… leave. They both shot me rather odd looks, frowning as I hurriedly gathered my stuff and got to my feet. "Later, guys."

They watched in confusion as I strode away, pushing the doors open with strangely urgent movements. After a moment, Alicia merely shook her head, bringing her glass to her lips. "Between her and Lee, the world's going mad," she muttered, taking a rather large gulp of her specifically iceless water as George merely smirked.

* * *

"…which corresponds to the numerical value forty-two; four representing the sense of completeness through obvious parallels to squares and other quadrilaterals…"

My eyelids grew heavier and heavier with every word that passed over Professor Vector's lips, threatening to reach two-ton status as the lecture droned on—this couldn't possibly get any drier.

"…the two signifying the paradoxical quality of light—wave or particle—which often complicates more advanced forms of illuminating spells…"

Now, don't get me wrong—I'm fascinated by Arithmancy. Really, why else would I take a Seventh Year class when I could easily take some no-brainer like Muggle Studies? I've always liked working with numbers, so I'm usually fairly attentive, too.

However, this particular lesson is all about 'Exploratory Application'—opening the mind to the lesser known potential uses of Arithmancy in unexpected areas like Matchmaking, Housekeeping, and Magical Cooking.

AKA bullshit.

I sighed, shaking my head slightly to try and dispel the threat of sleep—my gaze was horribly unfocused, everything around me a blur of colors and shapes. I'd had a long, drawn out day to let whatever tension I'd felt this morning subside, allowing me to relax back into somewhat of a decent mood (oh, I'm sticking to it).

The only trouble was I'd relaxed a bit too much, and now I was falling asleep. Briefly, I wondered what I must look like to an observer: eyes crossed in exhaustion, lips parted slightly, cheek scrunched into folds by the pressure of my hand.

Stunning, I'm sure.

I felt myself slouching steadily into my seat (something that I seemed to be making a habit of lately), my head nodding forward as my eyelids once again resumed their descent to slumber—and then _whack_. I jolted upright violently, head snapping upward as my chair made a loud screeching sound against the floor.

Professor Vector's sharp stare flew over to mine, her blonde brows gathering into a pointed look. I smiled meekly, running a taming hand through my disheveled waves to try and neaten them somewhat. The woman's lips pursed briefly, though after a moment she looked away, resuming her lecture.

After waiting a precautionary fifteen seconds, I relaxed my posture a bit, feeling Gabriel Harris's perplexed stare burning holes into the side of my head. Chancing a glance at my table partner, I glowered at the amused quality in his expression, shrugging helplessly when he mouthed, 'What the bloody hell was that?'

Determined to figure out what had just attacked me, I swiveled about in my seat, eyes narrowed as I searched. A few seconds passed until my gaze landed on a delicately folded square of parchment, settled innocently by the leg of my desk.

Discreetly, I slowly slid down my arm down the corner of my seat, lowering my hand until my fingers clasped around the tiny piece of paper. Bringing it up to my lap, I silently unfolded it, eyes narrowing as an unfamiliar swirl of curly lettering unfurled before me.

_Andy,_

_First off, I want to say that it's really sad for all of us to see you leave the Gryffindor Quidditch team—you were a brilliant Seeker and all that. However, now that it's up to someone else to fill your shoes, I presume you'd want them to be as good as possible, right? So I was wondering if, sometime before the game, you could teach me that move you did a few months ago in the Ravenclaw match—the Grislow Feint? Meet me after class to schedule a time. Thanks, you're an absolute star._

_Fi_

I raised a brow, unable to keep my nose from scrunching—_Fi_? Was she for real?

Glancing over my shoulder furtively, I saw 'Fi' sitting at the table behind me, chin poised airily on her well-manicured fingers, hazel eyes cool and attentive. Sensing my stare, her gaze shifted over to mine, dubiously friendly smile spreading over her pouty lips.

Still clinging on to my whole 'niceness' thing, I returned the expression half-heartedly, a bout of mistrust welling within me—Fiona Price had never boded all that well with me. Everything about her just seemed… manipulative; like schemes were constantly forming themselves in that platinum blonde head of hers.

And after that little incident in the Common Room, yesterday… well, I wouldn't exactly call us best friends.

I glanced back down at the note, wondering what exactly I should reply—given that I was being nice today, that ruled out a simple 'Hell to the fuck no, bitch.' Plucking my quill up to formulate some sort of response, I was interrupted by the sound of Professor Vector's clap.

"Alright, so now that we know some of Arithmancy's more… _frivolous_ uses, why not have a bit of fun and test a few out?" the blonde woman suggested with a rare smile, her high-heels clicking as she strode over to her desk.

Professor Vector was a rather severe woman—strict as hell with zero tolerance for disruption or chaos—but she was also young, blonde, and leggy, which rendered her a dominatrix of sorts in the eyes of the testosterone-happy Seventh Year males. They watched her with interest as she bent down to grasp her attendance sheet, some even angling their heads.

Despite the rather sickening male-obsession-factor, I have to say I quite liked her. She was an excellent professor, and she managed to be incredibly bright and incredibly fit at the same time, which was a step-up for female empowerment. In a class full of some of Hogwarts' fittest blokes, she remained strictly professional and didactic, never tolerating the slightest bit of flirtation.

Rising with an air of stern obliviousness, though she clearly knew she was hot, she let her sharp blue eyes sweep down the list of students. "Okay, it looks like everyone's here, so we should have an even number of students—everybody pair up!"

Everyone looked around for a moment, sluggish and unmoving, until Vector merely rolled her eyes. "Today would be nice—c'mon, _tut tut_!"

People slowly began moving, rising from their seats and signaling to other people indicatively. Hand still poised over the note, I didn't even bother with looking up—Gabe and I always worked together, mostly because both of us were too lazy to move. "Howdy, partner."

When I received nothing but silence in return, I glanced up, unsurprised with what I saw. Gabe was simply staring at the list of things we were supposed to complete with his lip curled, expression not-so-thrilled. "We're not actually going to do this rubbish, are we?"

I fought back the urge to roll my eyes—there was nary an Arithmancy assignment he didn't start without posing that exact question. "Yeah, we actually are."

His head lolled back as he groaned. "Why?"

"Because we have to."

"C'mon, Andy—be a rebel," he urged, scrunching up his face like a petulant four-year-old.

I scoffed. "For what?"

His face suddenly sobered dramatically, eyes filling with earnestness. "…for the children."

I couldn't help but snort at this. "Oh, please," I muttered, shaking my head as the girl passing out the proper materials, Becky something-or-other, reached our table. "Two of each, please."

"Child-hater," Gabe snapped at me, tossing me a dirty look before switching his gaze over to the slightly confused-looking Becky. "Andy's a child-killer," he explained casually, leaning toward her with a secretive expression and dropping his voice into a whisper, "she eats them—"

"Don't listen to him," I said, rolling my eyes.

He merely rubbed his stomach as Becky started backing away, lips curled at the corners as he held her stare. "Yummy, yummy."

The second she turned around, I couldn't help but burst into laughter. "You're such a creep," I said, shoving him in the shoulder as he grinned.

"Better than a cannibal..."

The remainder of the class went by rather uneventfully, filled with a number of stupid exchanges and Gabe's brainless commentary. By the time we'd finished, there were still about five minutes left in class, leaving me a bit of time to refocus my thoughts on Fiona's note.

I mean, I _suppose_ I could _maybe_ help her out—she did ask rather nicely. And it was more for the team than anything else, really—I still wanted them to win…

These were the unusually nice thoughts I was having, courtesy of the good mood Gabe's affable company had put me in, up until the bell rang.

And that's when the whole bloody playing field changed.

"…honestly—you vastly underestimate me, Oliver," I heard Fiona asserting from the table behind me as I packed my stuff up, flipping through Wood's precious play book with well-manicured fingers. They both seemed to have no intention whatsoever of leaving the classroom, ignoring the bell and the departing students in favor of strategizing for the Slytherin match.

"Haley's Comet? Freudian Feint? I can do those in my sleep."

Despite my pleasant mood, I snorted. Really loudly. Gabe sent me an odd look as he stuffed his quill into his bag, raising a brow, but I brushed it off—a _Freudian Feint? _Please—that cow couldn't do a Freudian Feint if she were injected with every steroid on the planet, let alone 'in her sleep'.

Pulling the zipper of my messenger bag closed, I shook my head briefly—_Freudian Feint_. Even I was sodding weary of those.

"Well, what do you have in mind?" Wood asked, and I could simply envision his crumpled stare scrutinizing his choices carefully. As the day had gone by, I got over my initial instinct to fidget awkwardly at the sight of him, though perhaps that was because we'd yet to really talk one-on-one.

"Something… rougher," Fiona replied silkily, her voice lowering into a purr. "I've always liked it rough."

My furrowed expression sky-rocketed as I nearly choked—oh, please. Oh, _please_!

Honestly, did she not know Wood at all? When he talks Quidditch, he talks only Quidditch—nothing else can penetrate his thick head, not even shamelessly sexual innuendo. Anyone who'd ever even casually brought up the sport with him would know that, ad nauseam.

I glanced over at them, unable to believe my ears. Predictably enough, Wood merely shook his head, brow furrowed. "I don't want any unnecessary risks—rougher isn't always better."

Despite my whole unaffected thing, I found myself fighting back a smirk, returning my gaze back to my stuff as I hefted the strap of my bag onto my shoulder.

"No, I agree—not always," Fiona continued, her voice still strangely velvet-like, "sometimes it's better to do it nice and slow…"

I nearly choked _again_—God, this girl was shameless!

"No, no—never slow," Wood automatically corrected, predictably oblivious, "smart, yes; careful, yes; but you have to be quick to be a Seeker."

"Oh, I completely agree, quickies—"

"You wanted to see me, Fiona?" I managed to convey before she could go further, amazed with the semi-straight face I was keeping. Sidling up to their table, I added an extra touch of innocence to my expression, keeping my gaze away from Wood—I still wasn't quite up for dealing with him one on one.

A shadow of a scowl began to sweep over her face, though she caught it after a split-second, neutralizing her expression into a cool mask. "Sorry?"

My brow rose slightly. "The note you sent me earlier…?"

"Oh, right," she said, suddenly plastering an exuberant smile onto her face as she turned to face Wood, "Andy's going to teach me how to do a Grislow Feint, Oliver—she absolutely insists I learn it—isn't that lovely of her?"

Instantly, I could feel Wood's demeanor change, going from tense to authoritative in 0.5 seconds. "Hell no—a Grislow Feint?" he echoed, bringing his narrowed gaze over to Fiona. The blonde nodded innocently, frowning at his stern expression.

"Yeah—it'll be fun, she can teach me all sorts of risky, game-winning tricks," she gushed, making me frown slightly at her enthusiasm—'risky, game-winning tricks'? I just agreed to teach her one thing.

As Oliver's frown of disapproval deepened, making me feel the slightest bit wary—something seemed more and more underhanded about this whole situation—Fiona quickly interjected. "Oh, damn it!" she exclaimed, bringing her palm to her forehead, "I forgot to get my Transfiguration notes back from Lori."

I raised a brow as she shuffled to her feet, not entirely convinced with her act—this all seemed a bit… staged. "I'll be back in like two minutes—you guys stay here and chat," she said, tossing an out of place smile over her shoulder as she swept out of the room.

I watched her leave with a distinct frown of confusion, trying to ignore the awkwardness that set in the moment Wood and I were left alone. My whole body grew a bit tense as a thick silence overtook the room, and I stubbornly kept my gaze on the doorway.

This silence, however, lasted all of three seconds.

"What are you trying to pull, Wiles?"

I nearly flinched at the blatant accusation in his tone, my frown deepening as I forced my gaze over to his. His eyes were hard and a bit guarded as they held mine, as if he were only showing half the emotions within them. "What are you talking abou—"

"A Grislow Feint?" he asked, expression a bit harsh. "Are you insane? That takes months to master."

I felt my skin prickle slightly with defensiveness. "Hey, she was the one who wanted to learn it, I was simply trying to be—"

"She obviously doesn't know how complicated it is," he interjected, making my eyes briefly narrow—since when was she totally blameless in this situation?

"Back off, Wood, she seemed pretty damn aware to—"

"And even if she were," he interrupted yet again, causing a faint glare to spark to life in my eyes, "the last person I trust to teach it to her properly is you."

A tinge of outrage wheedled its way into my glare. "What's the supposed to mean?"

He held my stare evenly. "It means that you'd rather scratch your own eyes out than actually help Fiona Price with anything."

"Oh, what, so I'd teach her the wrong thing?"

He eased back into his chair, expression still somewhat severe as he shrugged. "Why not? It's not like you could possibly get her to master a Grislow Feint in two days—"

"I would try," I stated angrily, feeling more and more defensive.

"For what?"

"For the sake of the team, Wood, for the sake of the fact that she asked nicely!" I replied, exasperated—this is why I don't do good deeds that often, because every time I do one, my motives get questioned to death. "Merlin, just because I'm not playing tomorrow doesn't mean I don't want you guys to win."

"You sure about that?"

I stared at him in slight disbelief, "Yes, I'm sure! I don't know if you've noticed, but the grand majority of my best friends are on that team."

"So what's better—a win without you where your replacement pulls a stunning Grislow Feint and steals the game, or a loss because of a failed, embarrassing attempt by the newbie to do tricks far too complicated for her skill level, thus indirectly glorifying you and making my letting you go 'the biggest mistake of my career'?"

I'd stopped listening somewhere between 'newbie' and 'biggest mistake of my career', taking instead to shaking my head in disbelief, for the gist was obvious. "What is _wrong_with you?"

He shrugged a bit coldly, eyes harder than usual. "I don't mix personal life with Quidditch—I never have, I never will."

"And how is this mixing the two, exactly?" I demanded, vaguely aware of the fact that I could be entering dangerous territory here, though this thought fled the moment he leaned forward a bit roughly.

"It's obvious, Wiles, you're using Fiona to get back at me," he growled in a considerably lower tone, stare even and angry, "and you're putting the whole damn game at stake in the process."

"I'm not using Fiona for anything; I was actually going to teach her the bloody move!" I snapped, unable to believe what a turn for the worst this whole plan had taken, "and if anyone's using her, it's you to get back at me!"

"What the hell is that supposed to me—"

"Oh, _please_—don't act like it's a coincidence that the person you replaced me with is a right cow to me," I cut in. "She's rude, she's insulting, and she seems hell-bent on taking anything that I might potentially want for herself!"

"Like _what_?"

"Like everything!" I replied, growing more and more frustrated. "My position, my sodding friends—she's got Angelina and Alicia thinking she's the nicest person ever, and George practically wants to marry her! Merlin, it's like she just wants to blot me out of the radar entirely; everything I have or I want, she's after! My reputation, my credibility, yo—"

I halted suddenly, totally disoriented. I was about a millisecond away from saying 'you'.

Wood seemed thankfully oblivious, the same furrow of anger rumpling his forehead as he patiently waited for me to continue. I merely stared back, a bit frozen and deer-in-the-headlights-esque, very much aware of the civil war that was about to rage in my head.

I just… but that… wouldn't that… of course not… but then why…

You know what? No. I didn't have the time or cranial space for this right now. I was in the midst of another argument, this one with another person, so my more schizophrenic quarrels between myself and myself could be resolved later.

Taking a moment to simply reorient my thoughts, I pushed aside the new torrent of questions crashing around my mind, inhaling slowly and bringing the hardened edge back into my gaze. "Look, I'm not sabotaging you, Wood."

He held my stare, not saying anything. Alright—this was better, maybe we could actually resolve this, and then I could shift all of my focus on dealing with the fact that I almost told Wood I wanted him.

"Fiona asked me for help, and I agreed—blame it on the stupid niceness resolution I made this morning; something about the sunshine and the skin-cancer blush and the crazy ideal that my friends can act like civil human bei—" I halted as I realized I was rambling incoherently, glancing down briefly. "Nevermind—but the bottom line is, I didn't mean any harm by anything. Fiona just wanted something a little more exciting, and the plays I overheard you two talking about did seem a bit on the dull side, so I thought I'd help her out—no big deal."

By the end of this little speech, despite my fragile mental state, I have to say I was a bit proud of myself. He was clearly the one in the wrong, yet here I was, the irrational one, offering up an apology of sorts.

However, when his expression didn't change, I raised a brow. "So… what do you think?" He couldn't possibly still be angry, I'd just done exactly what he always wanted me to do—show patience, rationality, and all that not-so-fun stuff.

I quickly realized, however, that he could, in fact, still be angry.

"I think," he drawled a bit caustically, his tone alone making me bristle, "that like it or not, you're not on this team anymore, so you should leave the strategizing and play-calling to those of us who _weren't_ kicked off."

And just like that, my tentative peace offering shattered.

I simply blinked at the unexpectedly low blow, unsure what reaction to give into first. Here I was, trying to be the fucking better person and help out the team that'd thrown me off, and I was being treated like a traitor. Holding his dark stare, I realized I didn't even really feel like defending myself—I was just bloody done.

Scraping my chair back, a cold look settled itself over my features. "You know, whenever you manage to fish the giant broomstick out of your arse and realize that I was trying to help you," I growled, getting to my feet and fixing him with a faltering glare, "then just stick it back up again, because I honestly doubt it'll make a shred of difference."

Not even bothering with his reaction, I simply reached for my bag, slinging it onto my shoulder a bit roughly as I swept out of the room. Really, I was just done with even trying to make sense of things anymore—when I'm a bitch to Wood, I get snogged, when I try for civility, I get sodding insulted.

"Off in such a hurry?"

My murky gaze shot up at the sound of the frosty voice, narrowing upon contact with eyes of sharp hazel. Fiona's satisfaction was subtle yet screamingly obvious, as most of her actions were.

"Yeah, I can only take so much of Wood," I muttered honestly, not really in the mood to come up with anything insulting. Sure, Fiona seemed like nothing more than a first-class cow, but maybe if I show her I don't want a war—

"And he can only take so much of you, I'd imagine."

My expression hardened at the cool remark, jaw stiffening into a clench.

"Or at least, that's what I figured when I left you two alone," she continued, smile curling at the ends of her lips. "Especially after I spent the entire day making it seem like you were just a bit too eager to help me out—Oliver was bound to get suspicious."

At this, I merely held her stare. "What?"

"Well, you didn't think I would ever actually ask _you_ for help, did you?" she asked, tiny smirk deepening. "Really, Andy—even I gave you more credit than that, though I s'pose the rumor about you being clever is just as false as the rumor about you being good at Quidditch."

By this point, my hands were clenched, my eyes were thin as slits, and my whole body was aching to simply lunge at the whole-hearted bitch standing before me—really, I couldn't take anymore of this. However, instead of attacking her, I simply shook my head, bitter smile pulling at my lips. "Are you and Wood dating, Fiona?"

She arched a pale brow, head tilting up slightly. "Not yet. Why?"

I scoffed, entirely fed up with everything and too done with caring anymore to fight. "Because you would make an absolutely perfect couple."

Again, I simply didn't wait for a response, brushing past the slightly perplexed girl with a bit more force than necessary and continuing down the hallway. I could feel her appraising eyes following me for a few moments, frosty and sharp as ever, though I merely turned the nearest corner without a second look.

To hell with this 'niceness' shit.

Niceness can take a spiffing little road trip to hell.

Wood can ride shotgun.


	14. Another Seeker in the Crowd

**Settling the Score**

Just Another Seeker in the Crowd

The following day came and went without very much consequence.

Alicia, Angelina, and Kats had made themselves scarce, practically overdosing on Quidditch due to Wood's psychotic, must-make-everything-perfect-because-oh-my-fucking -God-the-match's-tomorrow scheduling, but I had expected as much. After all, I used to be a part of that very must-make-everything-perfect-because-oh-my-fucking -God-the-match's-tomorrow scheduling.

My, how things change.

Today the big day had finally arrived, and those three were totally and completely M.I.A.—at least yesterday they'd popped into the Great Hall every now and then to dowse themselves with water or stock up on some good ol' fashioned carbohydrates, but today it was like they'd disappeared off the face of the planet. Again, this wasn't surprising—Wood had stuck with the same game-day rituals throughout all four years of his captaincy, and one of them (my personal favorite, really) involved whisking the whole team off at exactly six in the morning, cramming them into this stuffy, abandoned classroom on the fifth floor, and avoiding all contact with the outside world until go-time.

Apparently it had something to do with 'getting focused'—meditating, harnessing your chi, that sort of rubbish—though usually I just made up for all the sleep I _didn't _get from waking up at six in the goddamn morning. I mean, really, I wasn't a bloody camera lens; there was only so much focusing I could do. Still… it was strange. Not being a part of it, I mean. Sure it was cruel and unusual, and sure it never failed to put me in a grumpy mood, but I couldn't help but feel rather… detached now that I wasn't a part of it.

This morning, the alarm clock went off at six o' clock sharp, as prescribed… and I didn't have to groan or pitch a slurred fit while fending Angelina off with my pillow. I just stayed in bed, eyes closed, listening to the jittery motions they were making as they made to head off. And for the first time in my life, I was wide-awake. It's really rather weird, realizing that things that used to be such a big part of your life function perfectly fine without you. It makes you feel sort of empty. I used to bloody hate that morning ritual, but now that it was gone, I found myself wanting nothing more than to be a part of it.

_Whatever, no use dwelling over it now_, I thought a bit darkly, wandering down the brightly lit Charms hallway for no particular reason whatsoever. It was somewhere around eleven, the sun was high and springy in the otherwise freezing sky, and not a cloud could be found anywhere in sight—a perfect day for Quidditch. And that was only outside.

Inside the castle, the atmosphere was absolutely electric—gold and scarlet streamers were hanging everywhere, silver and green flags were rippling in the light breeze, and Peeves was shooting brightly colored sparks at people's heads all around the Entrance Hall; everyone was giddy with anticipation.

It was natural: this was _the_ match. The one every had been waiting the whole year for. All day, people had been discussing it: placing bets on who would win, speculating over the final score, everything. For a while, I'd desperately tried to muster some sort of excitement for it, wanting to feel the same buzz of electricity splayed upon everyone else's faces. though I came to the conclusion that I was severely kidding myself after an hour or so.

This was going to be a rough day to get through and I knew it. Grinning and bearing it would be far easier to do if I didn't try to believe my own act.

"Morning, Andy," a cheery girl that I vaguely recognized from the Gryffindor Common Room sang as she traipsed down the hallway, pulling me out of my thoughts. Her face was extremely young—undoubtedly a First Year—complete with flushed cheeks and bright blonde hair. "Ready for the big match?"

Her friend, a thoroughly unfamiliar bloke who seemed a bit older than her, promptly elbowed her in the ribs, tossing me a panicked smile before whispering harshly into the girl's ear. The color quickly drained from her cheeks as her eyes widened, snapping over to me in horror. "Oh, Goodness, I'm so sorry! I totally forgot about… I… wow, Merlin… um, have a nice… day…"

And with that, the two scuttled off, leaving me standing in the hallway with a rather sour expression. "Don't worry about it," I drawled more to myself than anyone, seeing as the pair now well out of hearing range, "it's only the sixth time it's happened today." Mood thoroughly bitter—I'd used up every shred of niceness within my body two days ago—I turned the corner of the hallway, thankfully emerging into more secluded corridor. There were far less windows lining the walls, achieving a gloomy effect that was far more tolerable than the bright, chipper sunshine.

I sighed as I strolled by aimlessly, not even bothering with trying to pull myself out of the wallowing state I'd fallen into—this was the Slytherin-Gryffindor match, and I couldn't possibly be less excited. A knot of disappointment twisted itself about my stomach. I'd been looking forward to this for months; months of building rivalry and intensive frustration, months of increasing desire to wipe the bloody floor with Irik Viper's smarmy face. "Months that have all gone to waste," I muttered darkly, slowing to a halt as I thought about how little all the intensive training had amounted to.

After a moment, I merely heaved yet another bitter sigh, letting myself slump against the wall. "Just grin and bear it, Andy," I echoed to myself, dropping my head against the surface behind me. "Grin and—" Before I could so much as summon some sort of reaction, I was hurtling backwards. "_Bloody_—!"

The wall seemed to completely give way, sending me flying into complete and utter darkness with nothing more than a strangled choke. Brain working far too slowly to keep up with the speed of everything around me, I felt a pair of arms wrap themselves around my waist from behind, coupled with a warm pair of lips deftly landing on the curve of my neck. I nearly screamed, swallowed by complete darkness as the wall—which had to be a door of sorts—slammed closed yet again in front of me, leaving me trapped. However, my protest was stifled as the same pair of arms jerked me around, lips crashing down on mine in a rough kiss.

"Mmm—!" Struggling against the gruff, careless grasp, I pushed violently against the nameless stranger's chest, trying to shove him off with all my might. To my immense disgust, I heard him chuckle lowly against my lips, a smooth, raspy sort of sound that sparked an unwanted tinge of familiarity.

"Feisty, are we?" he drawled as I finally managed to wrench my lips away from his, the velvety voice sending yet another horrid pang of familiarity through my thoughts. Through the blinding darkness I could make out little more than a vague outline, though I had an unshakable feeling that I might have to hang myself upon finding out who this was.

"Get the bloody hell off me!" I snapped angrily, still fighting against the worrisomely iron-clad grip he had, wondering briefly if I was in any danger—whoever this was, he was quite strong.

"I'd rather not," he murmured with that painfully familiar smoothness, lips once again seizing mine as his hand slid its way up from my waist, making its desired destination no mystery.

This time reacting immediately, I twisted my entire body to the side, partially breaking the strength of his rough hold. I wasted no time dawdling, quickly bringing my hands up and shoving him backwards with whatever strength I could muster—which turned out to be more than I expected. He staggered backwards quite a few steps, knocking into whatever was behind him and sending a few things crashing to the floor. A slew of violent curses poured from his lips, making me reach toward the supposed door hastily in search of some sort of doorknob.

"Oh, bollocks—honestly!" I muttered frantically as I tried to find a means of escape, my hand finally clasping around the curve of the handle—only to find it locked. I jangled it violently for a few moments, though a sharp, angry grip interrupted my attempts as it swung me around by my shoulder.

"Look," he snarled, furious face still indistinguishable in the darkness, "I don't know what you're bloody problem is—"

A shrill scoff escaped my lips, eyes wide with incredulity. "My _bloody problem _is the fact that some complete stranger just pulled me into a dark room and attacked me!"

I heard a cold snarl sound in the darkness. "Oh, _please_, love—girls wait in sodding line to do this, there's no need to play the uninterested card—"

"What the bloody hell are you even talking about!" I interjected, pulling back once again as his face closed in on mine, mouth making to cover my own. He pulled his head back, letting out a growl of frustration as he roughly pushed me away.

"Look, I just want my bloody shag, alright?" he demanded, cursing under his breath in what seemed to be complete annoyance as my eyes widened. "I don't know what the hell Flint told you, but this is a big match, and I don't need any unnecessary complications—"

"_Flint_?" I questioned, horribly confused. "What the bloody hell does that halfwit have to do with this?"

"What do you—_halfwit_?" he echoed, his tone mirroring the utter confusion in mine. For a moment we both just stood there, completely baffled as to who the other was and what they were doing there, until finally I sensed him fumbling for something in the darkness.

After a few tense moments, he managed to find whatever it was he was looking for, bringing it up before him and murmuring something under his breath. A blast of light suddenly filled the room, spilling over the various shelves and mops lining what appeared to be a tiny broom cupboard, blinding me entirely. "Bloody hell," I protested, bringing my hand up to shield my eyes as I tried to bat away the offending wand, more blinded now than before. However, after a moment of muttered curses and fumbling, the light seemed to dim, making it possible to glance at the elusive face without risking permanent damage.

My entire body froze in utter shock. Staring back at me, arrogant and self-serving, were the ice-colored eyes of none other than Irik Viper.

"_Viper_!?"

"_Wiles_!?"

Without sparing a single moment, we sprang away from each other, utterly horrified by the idea of the other's touch—this was enemy territory. We both knocked a few choice buckets and pales over in all of our haste to distance ourselves, causing quite a loud clatter.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" he demanded furiously, making my eyes widen in outrage.

"You grabbed me, you fucking idiot!" I cried back, utterly indignant as I motioned toward the door, "I don't know if you recall, but I didn't really have a choice!"

"I didn't know it was you!"

"Who'd you think it was, _Dumbledore_?!"

"_Why the hell would I want to shag Dumbledore_?"

"Hell if I know!"

"Oh, this is fucking perfect—biggest match of the season and I can't even get a decent shag in," he growled, making a sudden realization hit me.

"Wait," I said, eyes slowly filling with disgust, "you mean you do this before every match?"

"Do what?" he spat, straightening out his half-unbuttoned shirt distractedly.

"Shag a random girl that Flint sends you—use her and then go off to play?" I elaborated, staring at him with revulsion.

He shrugged carelessly, tossing me an infuriatingly smug look. "We all have our little superstitions."

I grimaced in disgust, now more desperate than ever to wash away the feel of his lips from mine. "You're revolting," I spat, finding the puffed up boy before me to be nothing short of a pig, especially given the fact that he looked almost amused by my dislike.

"Look, Wiles," he drawled impatiently, pulling out what looked to be a cigarette from the depths of his robes and bringing it to his lips, holding it between his clenched teeth as he dug for a lighter, "unless you're going to give me a go at that tight little arse of yours, there's really no reason for you to be here."

My eyes widened at the demeaning words as I struggled with my anger, nausea sweeping through each and every curve of my body. "I'm locked in," I seethed, my skin crawling with disgust, too repulsed to yell.

"Use your wand," he suggested lazily, bringing the lighter to his lips and lighting the cigarette, leaning back against the shelf and taking a slow, languid drag.

I waved my hand before me as a cloud of smoke swirled around my face, spurring a minor coughing fit. "I left it back in the dorms—I would've hexed you a good five minutes ago if I'd had it."

He snorted derisively at this, letting his head loll back against the wall. "Yeah, a hell of a lot of damage you would do."

My skin bristled with irritation. "Don't think so, do you?"

A dry, arrogant laugh sounded from the back of his throat, icy blue eyes leveling to meet with mine. "Oh, come on, Wiles. You're rather smart for a girl, you know how it works," he drawled carelessly, waving a dismissive hand. However, upon seeing the angry lack of comprehension on my face, he sighed, pushing himself off the dusty shelves to take a few steps closer. "I'm a bloke, love," he murmured, disgustingly smug little smirk rising onto his lips, "the contest ends there."

My eyes slitted. This was one of the things that made me hate Irik Viper with a venom far more toxic than any Quidditch rivalry could merit—he was as sexist as they came. Stemming from a long line of Bulgarian purebloods, he'd been raised with the lesson that women were nothing—objects for men to play with, maybe—and it was one of the few lessons taught to him that ever really stuck.

Anger flaring beneath my skin, my jaw remained tightly clenched, lips drawn into a dangerously tight line as he made to continue. "Why do you think we're all so positive that Gryffindor's going to get destroyed today, darling?" he pressed on, looming closer with every word. "You're a team full of girls. No other team's bloody stupid enough to let more than one girl on, and even then, it's just a strategy to avoid the 'sexist' label."

My eyes glimmered dangerously, absolutely infuriated—Angelina, Katie, and Alicia could fly bloody circles around almost every Slytherin player, and I knew for a fact I could outfly this asshole! Bloody hell, how I wished I was playing; Fiona was just going to prove him right with all her prissy little flips and twirls.

"I mean, sure, you lot may be _fair _flyers," he pressed on, breaking through my thoughts as he came to a halt right before me, "and perhaps in a women's league, you could even make some sort of name for yourselves—but when it really comes down to it..." He brought his face within inches of mine, his hand brushing against my hipbone and slowly slipping up the curve of my waist. "You're just another piece of arse. That's the reality of it, love—take it or leave it." Smirking with satisfaction at his final statement, he took yet another long, lazy drag from his cigarette, taking care to blow the wispy smoke directly into my eyes.

And that was really all it took for me to snap. Completely and utterly snap.

Rage stormed through every last inch of my body, built up from the little incident with Fiona, the encounter with Wood, the fact that I wasn't playing—_everything_. My face contorted into a look of pure loathing, and without any sort of warning, I let out a vicious snarl, grabbing him by the shoulders and hurling my knee up to his groin.

"_BLOODY—_!"

"OH, I'LL SHOW YOU BLOODY YOU _DEMEANING_—"

I kneed him again.

"_Chauvinist_—"

And again.

"_Revolting_—"

Apparently I like kneeing people.

"_PIG_!"

I finally shoved him backward, sending him crashing against the dusty shelves in his debilitated state. Breathing hard, I watched him as he crumpled to the ground, writhing about in pain. He groaned, clutching a rather sensitive area which I might've _accidentally _tweaked a bit. Careless aim, and all that... After a few moments of reveling in my handiwork, I'd had enough, wanting nothing more than to just get out of there. My track record with broom closets was growing steadily worse, and I was beginning to think I should just keep a mile away from them at all times.

However, just as I made to extract his wand from the tangle of robes and limbs on the floor, I heard a whispered incantation sound from the other side of the door, followed by the sound of a lock clicking open. "Irik? Sorry I'm late, this is my first time doing this," a female voice purred as the door slid open, giving way to the notoriously curvy body of Penelope Ashwood. Her lips curved into a pout upon spotting me, pale green eyes narrowing. "What are _you _doing here—Flint said it was my turn. And where's Irik?"

I didn't even bother suppressing my flat expression as I cocked my head in Viper's direction, watching the girl's eyes widen dramatically as she caught sight of him, breathless and writhing, crumpled on the floor. "What on earth did you _do_!?" she cried, horrified.

"Don't worry you're pretty little head," I drawled, tone dry as ash, "I was just the warm-up—feel free to romp away. Oh, and a little tip," I added sardonically, watching the confusion dissipate somewhat from the girl's eyes as they sobered, eager for advice, "he likes it rough, so give him hell no matter how hard he protests."

A loud groan emitted from the floor, tortured and vicious, and I merely smiled. "Trust me, I'm a pro—drives him mad."

Penelope smiled gratefully, turning to back around to face the pile of quivering idiocy Viper was reduced to as I hastily made my way out of the room. However, right before the door could swing to a close behind me, a few choice words filtered from the crack.

"You've been a very bad boy, Irik..."

* * *

"Chocolate frogs! Two knuts each! Get your chocolate frog!"

"Everyone place your bets here—it's now or never!"

"Chocolaaatee f_rooo_-ooogs!"

"Oi, shut up with the chocolate frogs! So that's two galleons on Gryffindor for you…"

"Mark me down for Slytherin, Davies."

"Harris! And you call yourself a Gryffindor! Have you no shame, mate?"

"Nope—none at all."

"Disgraceful."

"Basically."

Beside me, Gabe was grinning cheekily, holding out a handful of galleons for Zachary Davies to take. The blonde Seventh Year merely shook his head in disdain, taking the coins with a look of scorn and marking Gabe down for a Slytherin victory. "You disgust me."

"Oi, they have a Seeker and we don't," Gabe said with a shrug, impervious to the disdain, "it's basic logic, really."

"Logic and loyalty are two very different things."

"Yeah, the former involves making money and the latter involves losing it."

Shaking his head yet again, Zachary ignored the comment, resuming his march down the rapidly filling stands and calling for all bets to be placed. People were filing onto the bleachers hastily, bathing the east half of the stands in a brightly colored sea of red and gold with their decorative scarves and hats. Quite a few students were waving around giant banners and shooting colorful sparks into the air, and a nearby group of blokes had even painted their chests to spell out 'Gryffindor' despite the two degree weather. All in all, Gryffindor spirit wasn't a hard thing to come by, though the thing that really electrified the air was the bitter clash of rivalry.

The entire west half of the pitch was drowned in an ominous sea of silver and green. Correspondingly colored smoke was curling up into the air, electric green fire was shooting up from different spots, and increasingly threatening chants were being sung at top decibels as game time grew nearer. The teachers had divided the pitch up into Gryffindor and Slytherin sides, for the split was dead even—half of the student body supported the Gryffindors, the other half the Slytherins. A vast array of Prefects and a few professors were stationed at the rift in which the two sides met, for three fights had already broken out and two students had been sent to the Hospital Wing.

As I watched this all from the stands—something I hadn't been able to do since Third Year—I couldn't help but feel a twinge of my former excitement rekindling itself. Sure, it absolutely, positively sucked hippogriff dung that I wasn't playing, but I could still join with everyone else in supporting my team. I knew firsthand how important the crowd was.

"How you holding up, kiddo?"

I glanced over to my left, spotting Gabe's lightly concerned expression and forcing a smile. "Great."

He winced. "That bad, huh?"

"No, Gabe, I'm fine," I assured, rolling my eyes.

Brow furrowing, he bent his face down, peering at my expression closely and getting all up in my personal space. "You don't look fine."

"Gee, thanks," I replied a touch sarcastically, rearing back from his inspecting gaze. "Most people don't when you're a centimeter away from their face."

He merely shook his head with mock admonishment, rearing back to his full height and ignoring my comment. "Bottling up your feelings isn't healthy, Andora."

"Would smacking you help rectify the situation?"

"And neither is this dreary smokescreen of sarcasm and hostility."

Meeting his playful expression with a distinctly annoyed look, I glowered at his grin. "You're ridiculously annoying."

He winked. "I try."

Shaking my head, I made to cast my glance back over to the pitch, though a sudden commotion caught my eye. Zachary Davies stood in the midst of a growing crowd a few rows down, eyes wide and expression fervent as he spoke. His hands were flying everywhere in excitement, thought I couldn't make out the words he was saying.

"Oi," I said, nudging Gabe, "what's up with Davies?"

Gabe narrowed his eyes as he peered at the boy, straining to hear. "Dunno—oh, wait! Sounds like he's saying… there's been a change of… pans?" He shot me a confused look, craning his head to hear more.

However, it proved unnecessary, for within three seconds flat the entire Slytherin half of the stands was in total uproar. Screams and yells of protest filled the air, coupled with angry 'boos' and vulgar gesturing, and my face crumpled into one of utter confusion. "What the bloody he—"

"Viper's not playing!" a young boy in the row before me cried jubilantly to his friend, making my eyes grow wide. "It seems Snape caught him smoking in a broom closet somewhere—heard a loud ruckus and found him, some Slytherin girl, and an opened pack of cigarettes!"

I simply blinked at the words, caught between snorting in laughter and feeling strangely disappointed. I mean, disgusting though he may be, Viper was one of the things people had come to see. He was part of the spectacle. Both teams were incredible independent of their Seekers, don't get me wrong, but the clash between Viper and I was one of the things that boosted the rivalry to new heights, one of the things that made this game so epic—and now neither of us was playing.

"And Snape _reported _him?" the girl the boy had been talking to squeaked, bringing me back to the matter at hand. "Why on earth would he report his own Seeker?"

"S'pose it's coz it really wouldn't make much of a difference now that Andy isn't playing—though I hear our new Seeker's really good," the boy replied, making a tug of sourness twist within me.

"But is she as good as the old one?"

The boy shrugged. "Dunno—but apparently she's a hell of a lot more consistent."

The girl nodded. "Yeah, I heard that the old one got lucky a lot—isn't that why she got cut?"

"I heard she quit the team because Oliver made her run laps," a boy piped up from beside the girl, scrunching his nose in disapproval.

"Really? I heard Oliver scrapped her for being late too much," yet another boy said, joining in.

"You've got it all wrong—I heard Oliver kicked her off for sleeping with Flint!" a nearby girl trilled, eyes eager and tone considerably more gossip-hungry.

"I heard she got caught with Pixie Dust or summat…

"I heard there was a love-triangle…"

"…something about the Giant Squid…"

"…two-timing the Weasley twins…"

"…lit the pitch on fire…"

"I heard she got caught ruthlessly murdering a group of five or so gossiping First Years by cutting out their tongues, grinding them up in a blender, and force-feeding the tongue-soup down their throats until they sputtered and choked to death on their own liquefied organs."

All five students turned to stare at me.

A few faces paled in horror, recognizing me instantly, though most—ironically enough, the ones that claimed to know precisely what happened—simply looked confused and disgusted. The realization hit them quickly enough, however, when Gabe draped an arm around my shoulders, eyeing the kids with a wary look and flicking his head toward me indicatively.

"I've seen her do it—nasty stuff."

At this, their eyes flitted toward mine, wide as saucers, and within three seconds flat they were scrambling off into far corners of the stands, a few even choking out incoherent apologies as they darted. "Ah, yes, that horrid tongue-soup," Gabe called after them, voice slightly wistful, "the color, the consistency, and _Merlin_—don't even get me started on the smell!"

When they were all a safe distance away, Gabe's hopelessly dramatic expression crumpled into little more than a faint smirk, left brow quirking somewhat as he glanced down at me, "A bit heavy on the gore, there, ma'am."

"I'm in a gory kind of mood," I muttered a bit moodily, feeling what little excitement for the game I'd been able to conjure up obliterate itself completely. This day was just shitty. There was no getting around it—no one gets sexually harassed by a complete pig, demeaned and slandered by a group of bloody First Years, and sits around and watches the game they've been looking forward to playing in for four months with a sodding smile on their face.

"Aw, c'mon, love—chin up," Gabe encouraged, using his free hand to nudge the bottom of my chin playfully.

"I'm fine, really."

"I want to see a smile."

"Gabe—"

"Turn that frown upside down!" he chorused, voice sing-songy.

"How _old _are you?"

"Less talking, more smiling!"

"Harris, I swear to Merlin—"

"What's that song about smiling? 'You put your right foot in—'"

"The _Hokey Pokey_?" I said in disbelief.

"Yeah!"

"That's not about smiling!"

"Really?" he asked, face scrunching in thought. "_Left foot in… out… shake… turn yourself about…_is that really it?"

"That's what it's all about," I said flatly.

"Huh—then I s'pose you're right…"

I merely found myself staring in slightly amused disbelief at the spectacle that was Gabriel Harris, wondering if his brain would implode if it were ever forced to contemplate anything remotely serious. However, before I could come up with any definite conclusions, the crackling of the megaphone echoed through the pitch, capturing my attention.

"Gooooodd afternoon, Hogwarts!" Lee Jordan's voice boomed from the speakers, slightly crackled though strikingly loud amidst the roaring response of the crowd. "It's a downright _beautiful _day for Quidditch—the sun's high, the birds are chirping, the Slytherins are on the far side of the pitch so there nappy faces are all blurred—"

"Jordan!"

"Just calling it like I see it, Professor."

There was a brief rustling sound, complete with a few muffled words and a distinct whine or two, though when a voice once again filled the pitch, it was McGonagall's. "Please strike the former comment from the record, Filius—particularly the use of the word 'nappy'," she instructed Professor Flitwick, who was transcribing the game for the Quidditch archives.

"Now, I believe you all know that there's been a slight change in the Slytherin line-up," the stern woman continued, eliciting a low rumble from the Slytherin half of the stands. "Due to certain events, Irik Viper has been disqualified from playing in this match, and he will be replaced—" She paused impatiently as the rumble grew into a vehement roar of protest, for that coupled with the none-too-sportsmanlike cheering of the Gryffindor fans was impossible to overcome. "_He will be replaced_," she began again, definitive tone eliciting a silence, "by Dorian Flotts."

A few boos drifted their way from the Slytherin stands, making me almost feel bad for the poor bloke—though I promptly remembered that no one remotely decent could ever join the Slytherin Quidditch team. My realization was later confirmed when Lee, who eventually managed to wrestle the megaphone back from McGonagall, called out the Slytherin team one by one, and an extremely smug-looking Seventh Year lazily flew onto the field in response to 'Dorian Flotts – Seeker'. As they all lined up at the center of the pitch, I felt the familiar bite of rivalry gnaw at my stomach, though I sullenly forced myself to quell it—there was no use getting all worked up. It simply wasn't the same from the stands; it wasn't even close.

When the Gryffindor role call commenced, Lee's voice adopted a considerably higher level of gusto, his introductions growing far more epic and drawn-out. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, I give you the _crusher_, the _enforcer_, the ruler of the Quaffle—four-year Chaser and all around firecracker _Angelina Johnson_!" The Gryffindor half of the pitch erupted in cheers as Angelina streaked into the pitch, hair tied back and face drawn with utmost focus. The beginnings of a smile curled at my lips as he continued the introductions in a similar fashion, growing more and more outrageous with every one—George was announced as a Viking, Fred a Greek God, and Alicia a Quaffle-slayer.

Strangely enough, he faltered when the list reached Katie, fumbling for words for a moment before simply muttering out her name and her position.

"Are those the beginnings of a smile I'm seeing?"

I groaned. "Gabe, don't start."

"They _are_, aren't they?"

"No—"

"_Yes._"

"Maybe."

"Ha! I'm definitely getting a Mona Lisa kind of vibe…"

"And I repeat—you couldn't possibly be more annoying."

"Ah, but you love it," he grinned, pulling me into a bear hug as a stubborn smile twitched at the corners of my lips—honestly, between Lee (who was currently introducing Wood as a blood-thirsty gladiator) and Gabe, who could possibly keep the whole angst thing going? "There you go!"

"Alright, alright, alright—I'm smiling, well-done," I conceded, breaking away from his loose grip and shrugging him off with a grin, though my eyes briefly caught on something—or rather, someone.

Halfway through twisting out of Gabe's grip, for a split-second and a split-second only, I glanced out at the pitch, my eyes unexpectedly locking with Wood's. He was flying over the stands toward the center of the field, smiling and waving at the screaming fans, though just as I looked over he glanced in my direction. And after a moment, something in his smile just… tightened.

However, he averted his gaze before I could make out a proper emotion, increasing his speed a bit before finally sweeping to a halt beside Angelina. I frowned slightly at the exchange, slowing a bit in my efforts to shove Gabe off. Gabe noticed, and glanced down curiously only to groan in defeat. "You know what—I give up. Frown all you want, lady, but don't come yelling at me when you have facial wrinkles at the age of twenty-two."

I snorted, despite myself. This was going to be a long game.


	15. Something Wicked This Way Comes

**Settling the Score**

Something Wicked This Way Comes

"Fucking _go_, Weasley!"

"C'mon, _c'mon, C'MON_—shit!"

"Oh, for the love of God!"

"This is bloody ridiculous!"

"Wake the hell _up_, Chasers!"

"Who's team are you even _on_, Wood!?"

"Why the hell's our Seeker just _hovering_ there? Move!"

Collapsed into the cold bleachers, face buried into my hands, curly hair bedraggled and swallowing my expression, I slowly shook my head from side to side, unable to watch the utter catastrophe this match had turned into. This was awful. Completely and totally awful. Around me, everyone was on their feet, yelling at the players in frustration, pulling at their hair, and occasionally kicking the bleachers in an attempt to release their sheer fury with the situation. This match was supposed to be the best bloody match of the year, and now absolutely everything was falling apart.

For the first hour or so, it'd been incredible. Every single player, be it Gryffindor or Slytherin, was playing top-notch Quidditch, their movements impeccably sharp and their drive fierce. The Keepers on both teams were frightfully good, but the Chasers on either side were really giving them a run for their money—Wood had been pulling out all sorts of mind-boggling saves to keep the scores level, and Adrian Pucey, the Slytherin Keeper, was more than keeping up.

The Weasleys had outdone themselves with the amount of well-aimed Bludgers they'd sent flying, keeping Flint, Montague, and Warrington on their toes, though Slytherin Beaters Vince Derrick and Artruvius Bole were responding in earnest, using the ample brawn that compensated for their limited brain to their full advantage.

Even the two replacement Seekers, I'd grudgingly admit, had been flying uncannily well. Fiona's lines were sharp and practiced, and both Seekers seemed alert and focused on capturing the snitch. It had been the match everyone had been anticipating, the one that had people sitting on the edges of their seats, and it lasted for about an hour and a half.

And then, without warning, everything slowly but surely went downhill.

It was only natural, really—stamina and rivalry can only energize someone for so long. As the match wore on, the atmosphere gradually started veering from positively electric to draining, and the more it dragged, the more frustrated the players began getting. Before anyone knew it, injuries started racking up like crazy, aims got skewed, people were getting fouled left and right—everything got messy. Gone were the sharp moves and the thrilling plays that had people cheering; instead the Chasers started dropping the Quaffle, the Keepers began missing easy-to-block shots, and the Beaters were getting tired, packing less punch into their batting.

And on _top_ of that, the bright, sunny sky the day had started off with was now nearing black, enshrouded beneath a thick veil of storm clouds that were expelling a freezing drizzle of mist over the entire pitch. Mist translated into fog. Fog translated into an easier way for the Slytherins to play dirty, and believe me, they've never been the type to pass up an opportunity to hurt a few Gryffindors.

But besides all of this, you want to know what really, _really_ gets to me?

It's precisely at times like these, where nothing's going right, when the entire team is starting to lose focus, when everyone's exhausted and angry and ready for the match to just bloody end already, that the Seeker has to step up and bloody _play_. Alicia said it loud and clear a few weeks ago—you can't win a game without a Seeker, and right now, that was precisely the problem. Fiona and Dorian were substitute Seekers, and it wasn't until the match's change for the worst that this fact became screamingly obvious. Both of them played marvelously when things were going well, letting the hype and the cheers energize them, but now that everything was in a downward spiral, they were totally and utterly lost—just hovering about, tired and disoriented, desperate for it all to end.

The thought made me want to scream in frustration—now was when they had to sodding take the reigns! The points were dead even on either side, and the Chasers were exhausted and injured; no one was planning on scoring anymore. It was up to the Seekers to decide the game, and both of them were far too lacking in stamina and experience to take on the weight of that responsibility. Bloody hell, it made me grimace to think it, but Viper would've eaten Fiona alive by now! He would've had the game won two hours ago—hell, probably even _earlier_ than that—and although that would've been absolutely sickening to watch, it couldn't be much worse than watching the utter catastrophe I was currently witnessing: Angelina getting repeatedly shoved into the bleachers, Alicia dodging painful elbows from Flint, George wincing every time he swung his bat after getting slammed in the shoulder by a dirty Bludger.

You have to realize, these weren't just my teammates getting abused and fouled like crazy out there—they were my friends, too. And as Fiona faffed about up there, perfectly unharmed and perfectly useless, I found that I simply could watch anymore, hence the reason for my current position.

"Oh, c'mon, Hooch—Flint just tried to massacre Katie!" Zachary Davies hollered from beside me, voice hoarse and hands thrust in the air in indignation. "Get some bloody goggles!"

"Hear, hear!" Gabe yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth to be heard over the general roar of the crowd. Distantly, a low rumble of thunder echoed in the dimming horizon, making a few worried heads shoot up—visible lightning meant the match would be called off—though I dutifully kept mine down, buried into my hands. In all honesty, having it called off didn't sound bad at all.

"Oi, Price—ever heard of a bloody Snitch!?" an angry voice growled from above me, clearly as incensed as everyone else. "Gold, fluttery, fast as hell—try catching it, would you! It kind of wins the game!"

A roar of approval followed the remark, fueled by the surrounding angry mob, and I could instantly feel Gabe's green gaze flit over to my hunched form. He'd been discreetly—or at least, I think that's what he was trying (and failing) to achieve—checking up on me throughout the entire game, eyes a bit darker than usual, though the apology they held did little to make this easier. Still, it was nice that he understood. Most probably thought that I was feeling thoroughly vindicated right now, that the only revenge I needed was seeing Fiona fail miserably, but they were horribly, horribly wrong. I felt frustrated, angry, and worst of all, helpless, for I knew there was absolutely nothing I could do to make it better. And what made it worse was that, in reality, I knew _exactly_ what to do, I just wasn't allowed to do it.

I sighed, rubbing my close lids against my palms. Perhaps it was best if I just left. "I think I'm going to head off," I said suddenly, raising my head for the first time in a good ten minutes and startling a few of the people beside me. Gabe arched a brow at this, though his eyes still looked a bit worried.

"You sure?"

"Angelina Johnson gets railed into the stands once again by Vince Derrick—someone's _got_ to call that foul!"

I winced at Lee's announcement, reassuring my decision as I nodded my head. "Yeah, I'll see you later."

"Alright, kiddo."

Forcing a brief smile, I got to my feet, my knees feeling a bit sore from being cramped up in the bleachers for so long. It took quite a bit of skill to maneuver through the congestion of the screaming crowd, though after a few minutes, I managed to break through to the center aisle, quickly making my way down the metal steps from there.

"Alas, there's justice in the world—penalty on Vince Derrick," Lee continued to narrate as I descended the stairs, though the sudden lowering of the crowd into an observant murmur made my ears prick. "Uh-oh… there seems to be a problem between Gryffindor Keeper Oliver Wood and Slytherin Scum Bucket Marcus Flint—besides the usual one, of course, which involves Wood getting irritated with Flint's stupidit—"

A sudden gasp filtered through the audience, making me glance up in a mixture of dread and curiosity, though my eyes promptly widened in shock. Wood was shoving Flint, expression enraged, and Flint was careening backward, struggling not to fall off of his broom.

"Bloody hell," Lee breathed, not managing to get out much else before McGonagall hurriedly snatched the megaphone away from him, countenance flustered.

"_Mr. Wood_!" she screeched, her voice flirting with the line between angry and shrill. "That sort of behavior is thoroughly _unaccepta_—"

Another gasp filled the stands as Flint finally regained his balance, barely wasting a moment before baring his teeth and lunging forward at Wood—and within three seconds flat, a full on fight had broken out. The crowd went absolutely ballistic, both sides rooting for their respective players and a few smaller fights breaking out in the stands, causing the Hogwarts staff to go into panic mode.

McGonagall, naturally, had a manic episode. "Mr. Wood, Mr. Flint, _you will stop this immediately_!" she demanded, her voice frantic and high-strung as the chaos simply continued to unfurl. "I will deduct points! I will assign detentions! _I will write your mothers_!" At the lack of response from the two brawling boys, she released a flustered cry, "For Merlin's sake, Severus, control your captain!"

A distinctly dry, "I'd be happy to, Minerva, as soon as you control yours," sounded from the background.

Too absorbed in the spectacle before me to really listen to their squabbling, I stood in the center of the aisle, utterly floored. This was totally and completely unprecedented—Wood had never done this before. _Ever_. This was the type of thing that would get you kicked off his team for good, no questions—the type of thing that he would never tolerate. And yet here he was, wrestling Flint off his broom, the two of them crashing down into the ground a few feet below in a series of tumbles and vicious grunts. I couldn't imagine what Flint must've said to him, but whatever it was, it had really hit a nerve. Wood was one of the most infuriatingly patient people I knew (when it came to people besides me, anyway), and he liked to keep his emotions locked within his eyes—such an outward showing of pure rage was just… shocking.

Around them, players from both teams were beginning to fly down and gather, the Slytherins jeering obnoxiously and the Gryffindors trying to shake off their shock. Katie and Angelina looked positively stunned, Alicia was fiercely yelling at Wood to stop, and Fred and George were both trying to pry him off of Flint. For a moment, I continued watching this all unfold, though it promptly hit me that Fiona was missing. Despite my rather dazed state, my brow furrowed. I'd expect her to be the first one at the scene, ready to coo and fawn and 'kiss it and make it better'. Wrenching my gaze away from the fight, I glanced around, searching for the head of long, startlingly blonde hair—though the moment I found it, my eyes widened.

She was still up in the air, racing recklessly forward, staring at the incident in what seemed to be total and complete enrapture. Unfortunately, Dorian Flotts was doing the very same thing, just as engrossed and just as careless with his speed, and before I could so much as choke out a strangled "WATCH OUT!", the two smacked right into each other. The third collective gasp of the day rippled through the stands at the suspended moment, coupling with resounding crack echoing across the pitch. Everything seemed to come to a halt, even Wood and Flint's ruthless brawl, at the sight of the collision, making everyone stare in shock. In what seemed to be slow-motion, the two veered off their respective brooms, slowly arcing backwards into the air in a muted freefall.

Somewhere between proving gravity indeed works and barreling down to their bloody, bone-crunching deaths, a few of the Professors managed to cast successful levitating charms on them, easing them to a halt a good ten feet above the ground. Within seconds, Madame Pomfrey was scurrying out to the center of the pitch, expression hard and riddled with focus as the two rather dazed looking Seekers were lowered within her reach. Inside my chest, my heart was hammering. _Hard_. And as horrible as it may sound, it wasn't out of worry—if Fiona was out, they didn't have anyone else to replace her. No one else had trained with the team, no one else knew the game plans, no one else was qualified to come in at this stage of a match.

No one else except me.

Around me, the initial shock was starting to wear off as people started realizing their replacement Seekers had just wiped out—well, Dorian was actually beginning to walk, but Fiona was still lying in a complete and total daze, blinking stupidly at her surroundings. My pulse was thrumming loudly in my ears, a kind of excitement I hadn't felt in weeks bolting through me—bloody hell, I wanted to play. I needed to play. And _damn it_, regardless of what Wood said, they needed me.

Watching the scene unfold before me with hawk-like alertness, I stood frozen, waiting for any indication that Fiona was out for good. Madame Pomfrey was hovering over busily, asking her questions and tapping her wand on certain areas, and I simply felt my heart-rate skipping and speeding anxiously. Finally, after what seemed like centuries, the severe woman lifted her head up and glanced at McGonagall, who'd hurried down to the pitch, and gave her a heavy look.

And then she shook her head.

My heart skipped a beat—she couldn't play. She couldn't play—she couldn't bloody play! McGonagall looked more concerned with Fiona's health than anything, but the entire rest of the Gryffindor team looked devastated—Dorian Flotts looked a bit woozy, but otherwise fine, which meant Gryffindor would have to take the loss without a replacement. That is, if Wood's little stunt didn't already force them to forfeit. Immediately, without thinking rashly or taking any sort of precaution, I began barreling down the steps, nearly crashing against the iron railing.

"Is that Andy?"

"What is she doing?"

"Is she going to play?"

Ignoring the growing murmurs of surprise growing around me, I swung myself over the railing, landing a bit unsteadily in all my hurry. Straightening myself out, I glanced up toward the center, where Snape, McGonagall, Madame Pomfrey, and the respective teams were all gathered. Swallowing down the knot in my throat, I tilted my chin up, knowing this wasn't going to be easy. My problem lay with one person, and one person only—and that was who I had to convince. Heart fluttering nervously, I strode over to the center of the pitch, simultaneously angry and worried about the fact that I had no idea how he would react.

Wood used to be infuriatingly straightforward. Now talking to him was just one risk after another; I could get snogged or I could get yelled at, I could get a charming grin or a flat insult, and in this case, I could get a yes or a no, and bloody hell, I wanted the former.

"…don't even know how to handle this situation—!"

"Your player initiated it, Minerva."

"And your player continued it, Severus!"

"Two very different things, I'm afraid—but even if we disregard your captain's wonderful exhibit of Gryffindor brutishness, you have no Seeker, so unless one conveniently decides to materialize out of thin—"

Snape looked a bit startled as I pushed through his gaggle of players, expression stubbornly focused and ready to play. His face promptly furrowed into a flat look. "Oh, smashing."

Ignoring his less than enthused reaction, I glanced around, searching for Wood's dark, ruffled hair amongst the gathered Gryffindors. My eyes ran over the faces of Katie, Alicia, and Angelina, whose tired eyes seemed to be slowly sparking with hope at the sight of me, and George and Fred, who had never looked so different before. George was starting to grin like mad, realizing my intention, though Fred was too preoccupied with eyeing the Slytherins murderously to really notice. McGonagall looked thoroughly surprised at first, though her eyes immediately became calculating as she saw the opportunity to beat Snape.

Despite all this, however, a frown overcame my face, my eyes unable to locate the captain. "Where's Wood?"

"What are you doing here?" Vince Derrick sneered.

"You can't play, you've been kicked off," Flint grunted rudely.

"So what? We can easily reinstate her—"

"Mr. Weasley, do shut up," Snape cut in the second George spoke, not even bothering to hide his blatant favoritism.

I sighed in frustration—this was going nowhere. "Where's _Wood_?" I demanded again, surprising myself with the amount of force packed into my tone, though the real surprise came from the sound of his voice behind me.

"I'm right here, Wiles." His tone was low and cold. Not a good start at all.

Whirling around to face him, my eyes involuntarily winced: he had a pretty nasty cut running through his left eyebrow, and the beginnings of a bruise were starting to form along the line of his jaw. Even still, it wasn't so much his injuries as the icy look in his eyes that made me flinch. He did _not_ look like someone willing to compromise at the moment. "I want to play," I finally declared after a few moments, though my tone came out a lot less steady than I'd wanted it to. I sounded unsure, but really, his unusually cold eyes were making me all the more nervous.

"And?"

I blinked, taken aback by the complete and utter lack of lack of caring in his tone. His biting indifference was far more of a slap than a flat-out 'no.' "And I need to know if you'll let me," I bit out a bit angrily after recovering, struggling to keep my cool—exploding wasn't exactly an effective means of persuasion.

However, he seemed to beat me to it as he scoffed suddenly, anger blooming to life in his eyes. "You want to know if I'll 'let' you?" he echoed, voice growing angrier by the second. "Since when has my say held any weight with you whatsoever, Wiles!? There are plenty of things I wouldn't bloody 'let' you do that you do anyway, so why ask _now_?"

My eyes widened briefly, caught between outrage and shock—where the bloody hell was all this heightened antagonism coming from!? "What is _wrong_ with you?"

"Nothing!" he roared, catching everyone off-guard. "Nothing's wrong with me!" However, he realized his outburst after a moment or two, averting his stare to the ground to try and force himself to calm down. I could feel the Gryffindors exchanging stunned glances behind me, shocked by his sudden mood swings, though I couldn't bring myself to glance away from his shadowed expression. After a few muted moments of seamless tension, he glanced up, not quite meeting my gaze as he muttered, "Play if you want, I really don't care anymore." And without another word, he grabbed his broom roughly and began walking off, headed toward the lockers.

To my surprise, it was McGonagall who broke the lingering silence. "Well, thank Merlin for that; if he hadn't reinstated you, I would've had to override his decision, and I do hate getting dictatorial…" And with that, she gave my shoulder a firm shake before scurrying off to the box seats where Lee was waiting for news to announce. Still, it wasn't until Alicia started screeching and Katie started jumping up and down that his answer really hit me. The Slytherins backed away in disgust, heading off to their end of the pitch as I merely stood in the same place, rooted. He'd said yes. I was playing. The game I thought I'd never be able to play in, I was playing it.

And yet, I wasn't excited at all. All I could see was his icy expression, his cold eyes, and the biting anger swimming in his tone. Hell, if I had known that would be his version of yes, I probably would've preferred a no.

"Oh, my God!"

"Bloody hell!"

"Thank _God_!"

"Wild Wiles is _back_, ladies and gents!"

The entire Gryffindor team, sans captain, began gathering around me, words gushing out at a rocket ship's pace as mingling emotions overtook the field. I felt traces of excitement, joy, exhaustion, anger, and rivalry all blooming around me, braided into the words everyone was speaking, but I was still too out of it to pay attention. _Snap out of it, stupid, you got what you wanted_, I scolded myself, shaking my head briefly as I finally glanced up. Battered faces met my eyes, though most were covered with relieved smiles, and I forced a smile of my own. "Guess I'm back."

"Damn well right, you are!"

"Finally, there's an end in sight to this _hell…_"

"You have _no_ idea how badly you've been missed, you chit."

Slowly, a smile started curling itself onto my lips, the excitement blooming on everyone's faces helping rekindle the one I'd been feeling not three minutes ago, though my thoughts were still a bit distant as they lingered on Wood's final expression words. Honestly, what an all around asshole—only he could manage to make a 'yes' that hard to swallow. Anger threatened to sweep through me again, but I pushed it down. Whatever, I didn't care how he said it; in the end, it was a yes, and that was all that I needed. I didn't need a smile or a pat on the fucking back from him, the miserable git—

My thoughts halted, however, as the megaphone crackled, making the crowd hush into a suspenseful murmur. I glanced up irritably, annoyed with the fact that I let myself get angry in the process of telling myself not to get angry, though Lee's voice promptly filled the stands. "Wizards and witches of Hogwarts," he began solemnly, as if he were starting a eulogy, "I have news. Due to the unfortunate events that transpired just five minutes ago, I'm afraid I have to report that…" the static crackled in the otherwise shockingly still silence as he paused dramatically. The Gryffindors were on the edge of the stands, preparing for the worst, though he promptly erupted into a thrilling cry, "Andy Wiles is _back_!"

A roar louder than I'd ever dreamed of crashed over the pitch, making all thoughts of Wood push themselves to the back of my mind. A steady cry of 'Andy, Andy, Andy!' began emitting from the stands, coupled with the outraged boos of the angry Slytherins, and my heart swelled at the overwhelming reaction. Bloody hell, this was why I loved this. Who cared about Wood? Who cared about anything? This was where I belonged, and it was time to play. Somewhat emotional now, I sent the stands a stupid wave, smiling like a four-year-old as I turned back to the team. My team, the one I belonged to again. George was egging on the chant, and Angelina was laughing.

"Merlin, every single bloody thing has been going wrong in this damn match," Katie said earnestly, dropping her hand into her palm, "you don't even know, Andy, I was so ready to quit—"

"It's been awful without you," Angelina agreed, wincing as she fingered the bruise steadily creeping up her side from being forced into the bleachers so many times. "Fiona's decent and everything, but it's not the same—"

"It really isn't," George agreed, grinning through a similar wince—his shoulder had been banged up pretty badly.

"You keep us all together," Katie pressed on, eyes filling with sincerity, "you make us a team—"

"There is a time and place for sappy bullshit," Alicia interjected, her eyes hard and fierce, her intensity only heightened by the small cut on her left temple, "and this match is neither—I have been shoved, I have been elbowed, I've been bloody _punched_, and quite frankly, I'm fucking _angry_, and I'm ready to kick some filthy Slytherin arse!"

As touching as Katie and Angelina's words had been, it was Alicia's that brought the snort of laughter—God, she was as blunt a bitch as they came.

"Hear, hear," Fred agreed, though there was a bitter edge to his voice—it was devoid of its typical musical quality. I glanced over to him, slightly surprised by the hardness in his face; Merlin, he looked _pissed_. It was only when I followed his gaze that I realized why: he was staring at Angelina. More specifically, he was staring at the large bruise sprawling over her skin, courtesy of one Marcus Flint. The serious side of this match was quickly resurfacing, and I immediately felt the lightness of the sentimental mood drift away. Reunion time was over, game time was now—and as if on cue, everyone's expression slowly hardened, heads drawing into a natural huddle.

"Alright, Flint's been an absolute monster this entire match—he's taking advantage of the fog like you wouldn't even know, half the stuff you can't even see from the stands," George explained lowly, his eyes taking on a darkened gleam of anger. "He's been targeting Angelina since she's been scoring the most, but now that you're in, I'd watch out, Andy."

I nodded, my eyes narrowing as I briefly glanced over at Flint—he was leaning over the railing and talking to someone in the stands, his big, ugly head bobbing animatedly. God, I wanted to make that idiot hurt.

"Now, as for the rest of us, we just have to hold down the fort now that Andy's back—the score's are pretty even, so it's really up to her," Alicia continued for George, turning her gaze on to me. "Andy, you've really got to bring it—I know Flotts isn't exactly stiff competition, but you're going to have Flint on your ass like stink on a hippogriff, so you have to be ready for some brilliant flying—"

"Oh, don't worry," I murmured, gaze cooling as Flint finally pulled away from his conversation, meeting my gaze and sending me an unbearably smug smirk, "by the end of this match, he'll be flying away from me."

"That's our girl," George grinned, ruffling my hair briefly before sweeping his gaze back over the team. "Now, as far as evasive strategies—"

"Shouldn't we involve Wood in this?" The question was out of my mouth before I'd even registered it as a thought, making an instant bout of shock and confusion sweep through me. _What_?

Katie and Angelina seemed equally confused—Wood's angry lectures on strategy were something I'd usually kill a small child to avoid, _especially_ after the outburst he'd had a few seconds ago—but I'd mentioned him anyway. It was just that, despite the fact that he was a total prick, a tiny, buried shred of me felt a bit, well…_wrong_, game-planning without him. Bloody hell, could I just go a single minute without having him invade my head?

Thankfully, Alicia's gaze grew hard, drawing my attention back to her. "You know, if he's going to jeopardize the whole game by pulling a stunt like he did, I really don't think he deserves to be involved."

"I agree," Fred said stonily.

Angelina and George seemed caught between agreement and indifference, though Katie seemed less certain. "I don't know, guys—I don't think we should be so quick to judge…"

"Rules are rules, Kats—any single one of us would've been kicked off in a heartbeat if we pulled something like that," Fred said, scowling bitterly. "You really don't think I've been _dying_ to throttle that bloody moron after watching him go after Angelina like he did?"

At this, Katie looked down, dropping the matter. "I suppose you're right."

"Besides, he's perfectly free to come over here if he wants," Alicia stated coolly, her entire demeanor hard and rather ready-to-kill. "Now—Andy, I think you should go ahead and change, there's an extra set of robes in the spare locker since Fiona's got yours, and just summon your broo—"

"I got it," I interjected, knowing everything past 'go ahead and change' would be useless information that I already knew—Alicia tended to talk a lot about nothing. "I'll see you guys in a few minutes, alright?"

Turning about and heading over to the lockers, a swell of fondness swept through me yet again as the Gryffindors began cheering yet again, transfiguring their signs to say 'We Love Andy' and showing the support that I'd truly thought I'd lost entirely. Waving and grinning like mad, I let electrified atmosphere overcome me, only to have it drain away instantly the second the door of the locker room clicked shut behind me. Wood was standing a few feet away, his robes shrugged off and his shirt abandoned, gritting his teeth as he pressed a hand against the side of his stomach. The lower front of his torso was covered in black and blue, and a few ribs were positioned in angles that were horribly unnatural. Cuts and scratches were dashed across his skin, and I couldn't help my immediate instinct, inhaling sharply. "Oh, my God."

He glanced up quickly, alarmed. "Wiles—"

"Wood, you have to go see Madam Pomfrey!" I cut in, worry overtaking any former emotion—one of his ribs looked about ready to pierce through his skin!

He shook his head resolutely, fighting back a grimace of pain. "I'm _fine_."

"You are _not_ fine, you have at least three broken ribs—"

"Wiles—"

"—possibly more, and even I don't expect you—"

"_Wiles—_"

"—stupid enough to play through—"

"_Wiles_, I said I was _fine_, leave it!" he snapped, making my lips come to a halt. My surge of maternal worry vanished almost as quickly as it came, and I felt my former anger rekindling itself now that there was nothing in its way.

"Fine," I said coolly, making my way over to the spare lockers behind him and taking care to push past him in the process. He inhaled sharply as I jostled past, the movement clearly aggravating his pain, though according to him he was 'fine', so I had nothing to feel guilty about, really. God, when had I turned into such a sadist?

Growling something incoherent beneath his breath, he stepped aside a bit as I swung open the locker, pulling out the spare scarlet and gold robes and shaking off the dust. On the exterior, I was maintaining a frosty temperament, though inside I wasn't anywhere near as collected. "You should probably get going, you know," I tossed out heartlessly, slipping off my coat, "the team's pretty angry at you after your little episode with Flint—I'm sure they're waiting for some sort of explanation."

Wood merely ignored me.

Anger heightening, I shook out the robes with more vigor, a cloud of dust flying everywhere. "By the way, you're a complete and total hypocrite, you know that?" I added, feeling my blows getting lower out of frustration as he refused to respond. "You lecture us all day and night about how even _considering_ starting a fight would get us kicked off, no questions, and then you go off and start one of your own. It must be convenient to be the captain." Absorbed in his shoddy healing charms, he didn't even glance up, making my jaw clench angrily. "_Why_ are you ignoring me?"

He scoffed slightly, totally dismissive. "You're really not all that interesting."

At this, I slammed the locked door closed, rounding on him with an expression that was as angry as it was confused. "What is _with_ you?" This wasn't like him, this cold, I-don't-give-a-damn rubbish. He wasn't usually so standoffish and… I don't know, _mean_. Stubborn and stuck in his own thoughts, yes, but not downright mean.

He glanced up carelessly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, like hell you don't," I snapped, the cool façade I'd put up to match his crumpling entirely. "I don't know what I did, but something has you acting like a complete asshole—a bigger one than usual, anyway!" He rolled his eyes, turning away and walking over to his own locker, and I followed him. "Did I offend you in some way on the pitch?" I ventured, voice heated. "Did you consider that 'me questioning your authority' or something?" He didn't answer, pulling a roll of gauze out of his locker, and I sighed in frustration. "Is this about Fiona—do you think her getting hurt somehow had something to with me? Or are you still angry about the whole feint thing? Seriously, tell me, because for once I have no idea!" He slowly began unraveling the gauze, his back turned to me, and I growled angrily. "Damn it, Wood, just—"

"Did something happen between you and Viper?"

The question was meant to come out uncaring and casual, but it didn't. I froze, my angry expression flattening into one of shock. "What?"

Turning slowly, he abandoned the gauze on the ledge of his locker, staring at me full on. "Did something happen between you and Viper in that broom closet?"

I blinked a few times, trying to shake off the cloud of surprise as confusion took over. "How the hell do you know about that?"

His expression hardened. "So that's a yes."

"No—yes—I mean, sort of, but it's not what you—" I shook my head in a flustered movement, clearing the image out of my mind and diving straight for what was bothering me: "Who'd you hear this from?" I hadn't told anyone; hell, I hadn't gotten the chance, and somehow Wood knew?

Ignoring my question, he glanced down, cold smile quirking his lips as he shook his head bitterly. "Wow, that's… that's really something, Wiles—Irik Viper."

The slight anger in my eyes sharpened tenfold at the accusatory tone in his voice, my lips curling into a snarl. "Don't pretend like you have any idea whatsoever of what happened in there!"

"Oh, trust me, I'd rather not know the details," he assured caustically, eyes narrowing with disgust.

"I don't mean it like that—"

"Merlin, I can't believe I defended you," he said to himself, shaking his head in disbelief.

"—I mean it's most definitely not what it sounds like!" I demanded, though I nearly reared back when he suddenly glanced up angrily.

"Oh, really?" he hissed, drawing his face within inches of mine, "because what it _sounds _like is you shagged Viper out of spite for the sake of some fucking _disgusting_ Slytherin trad—" For the second time in a life full of provocation, I'd slapped Oliver Wood. And for the first time in my life, I could say he'd _really_ bloody deserved it.

A loud, satisfying crack filled the otherwise silent air, though this time there was not an ounce of pity to be found within my body. I was thoroughly _livid_, and in all honesty, a part of me felt like _I'd_ been slapped. I'd gotten violated by the nastiest chauvinist in the entire damn school and _I _was getting shit for it!? "You don't have any idea what you're talking about," I growled, voice frighteningly low as I stared into his darkened eyes, "so I suggest you bloody well stop talking. I was pulled into that broom closet by accident—Viper was already in there, expecting his little shag-of-the-day, and when I slumped against the door, he thought I was it."

He scoffed at me, clearly not believing it. "Right, and naturally he didn't recognize you?"

"It was dark," I spat coldly.

"And the screams of what you claim to be 'protest' flew right past him?"

I fought the urge to smack him again for that comment, instead narrowing my eyes into slits. "Does Irik Viper strike you as the type to stop when the girl says 'no'?"

At this, Wood stiffened slightly, the message finally seeming to hit a little. "You tried to stop him and he didn't listen?"

I glared fiercely. "You think? He thought I was just being 'cute' when I tried to fight him off—believe me, it was great fun having him laugh and grope me as I tried to shove him away."

At this, Wood looked utterly livid, jaw clenching tightly as he snapped his gaze to the door. "I'll bloody _kill_ that—"

"Wood, don't worry about it," I interjected hastily, slightly surprised by the sudden mood swing—a second ago that anger had been directed at me. "I think he got off worse than I did."

After a moment, he averted his stare, processing all of this for a moment. At first, his expression was strained and hard, though he promptly glanced back down at me, the amber of his irises softening. "And… you're alright?"

Despite my bitter mood, I couldn't help but snort slightly at the memory of kneeing Viper four times. "Yeah, I think I'll be okay," I said a bit wryly, "psychological damage only, and according to you I already have plenty of that."

He eyed me cautiously, hesitant to ask his next question. "He didn't… he didn't manage to—"

"No," I answered quickly, cheeks taking on a slight flush. "No, of course not." Brow furrowing, I remembered my earlier question, "Who told you about it, anyway? I haven't said a word to anyone, unless Viper said something…"

"It was Flint," he muttered lowly, "on the pitch. Goddamnit, I _knew_ I shouldn't have believed…" he shook his head, trailing off, "never mind, what's done is done."

At first I was slightly confused, eyes narrowing slightly; and then it suddenly hit me. "Oh, God."

"What?"

"You didn't."

"Didn't what?"

"Please tell me that's not the reason."

"Reason for _what_?"

"Oh, God."

"_Damn_ it, Wiles, reason for what?"

"For lunging at Flint during the match."

"Oh." He slowly dropped his glance at the floor, rubbing the back of his neck absently. "It might've had something to do with it…"

My eyes flew shut. Talk about the number one way to make a person feel completely and totally awful. "God, you're such an idiot."

"Well, thanks," he drawled sarcastically.

"You risked a match over that?"

"It's not—I..." he sighed. "You should've heard him, Wiles."

I shook my head, feeling absolutely horrible about myself. I'd just _slapped_ him and called him a hypocrite. "Why didn't you say something earlier?"

"I was a bit busy with the whole broken rib situation."

I dropped my head in my hands—it all made sense. The unusually frigid demeanor, his outburst on the pitch, and here I was, getting angry and snapping at him when he had risked a match trying to defend me. However, that brought up another point: one that was a bit more complicated to ask. "Why did…" I trailed off, making him sigh a bit irritably.

"You've really got to quit with these fragments, Wiles."

Ignoring him, I lifted my head from my hands, meeting his eyes—they were returning to their normal, pale amber again, no longer darkened with anger or hardened with bitterness. His lips twitched at the corners as I frowned, searching for the proper way to put it before finally settling with, "Why did you care so much? I mean, I know it doesn't take much to want to throttle Flint, but…"

At this, the amused quality in his eyes dwindled somewhat, giving way to a more serious expression. "Honestly?" He tilted his head to the side slightly, letting his eyes sweep over my face slowly. "I'm not exactly sure."

Well, lovely. I'm not exactly sure, either. That's sort of the problem, you see. "Oh." For a moment, we both stood there, faces close and eyes locked, before I made the executive decision to glance away, not at all happy with the slightly lightheaded feeling I was getting. "We should go—Alicia's probably killed six people by now," I muttered, hastily tucking a lock of hair behind my ear.

"Yeah," he agreed, glancing over to the door briefly. "Hopefully they're all Slytherins." After a moment, he shot me a brief, examining look before finally just picking up his shirt, pulling it on over his head and grabbing his robes. "I'll see you out there in a few minutes, alright?"

"Alright."

"Oh, and Wiles?"

I turned around, expression expectant. "What?"

He smiled slightly, the expression charming and a bit frustrated. "For the love of God, stick to the game book."

I snorted at this, rolling my eyes. "Alright."

"Swear it."

"You're so melodramatic—"

"_Wiles_."

I sighed, crossing my arms grudgingly. "I swear."

He smirked. "Thank you."

Shaking my head, I turned around, heading back over to my locker until—

"Oh, and Wiles?"

"_What_?"

"The game book doesn't involve anything life-threatening."

My eyes veered into a roll, "I'm aware, Wood. Game book equals no excitement."

"No excitement in the least."

"Got it."

"That means no Pixie Veers or Grislow Maneuvers—"

"I _got_ it, Mum."

"Good."

Sighing, I grabbed my robes off the floor, frowning at the fact that they'd simply gotten dusty all over again, though my irritation piqued at the sound of footsteps coming up behind me. If he bloody said—

"Oh, and Wiles?"

However, before I could snap out anything along the lines of 'say that again your nose will match your ribs', he'd swiveled me around to face him, his hands drifting around my waist as his lips captured mine in yet another kiss that I was entirely unprepared for. One of these days, just _one_, I wanted the upper hand in this whole ordeal.

Dropping the robes I had just picked up, I thoughtlessly brought my hands to his chest, wincing in realization as he inhaled sharply—I'd forgotten about the injuries. I tried to break away, though he merely counteracted this by pulling me tighter against him, murmuring, "Don't worry about it." His lips were on mine again, and I felt myself melting against him, my hands sliding up and meeting around his neck. I didn't understand what we were, and I probably never bloody would, but at the moment, it really didn't matter. All that mattered, cheesy though it may be, was that his touch made my heart flutter and my skin hot and my brain cells slow.

He nipped at my lower lip, parting my mouth with his as his hand grazed up my neck to my cheek, and I groaned: make that 'my heart emit seismic waves, my skin volcanic, and my brain cells die.' This continued on for a few more moments until a series of violent crashes made us break apart, and Wood turned to stare at the door bewilderedly. "What the bloody hell…?"

I'd bet my life on it having something to do with Alicia.

Turning back to face me, his face was adorably crumpled. "I should probably go out there."

"Yeah, I heard there's this really intense Quidditch match going on."

"Really? Who's winning?"

"Gryffindor, as far as I'm concerned—even though their captain's this total git."

"That's funny, I heard the Seeker was a piece of work."

"Oh, she was—but she fell off her broom so now they have this stunningly amazing one coming in for the remainder."

Wood gave me a flat look. "This is stupid."

I snorted, "Extremely."

"I'll see you outside, and oi," he said, his tone softening slightly as I made to turn away, "I meant it about keeping it safe, alright? Try not to let the rivalry and the cheering make you do something stupid."

"Like talk in third person?"

He smiled wryly. "Exactly."

With that, he swung the door open and emerged back into the pitch, leaving me with just enough time to change and conjure my broom and not have to think about what the hell was going on. Trying to reason him out would take hours if not days, and I only had about thirty seconds at the moment.

Hence, I pushed all of those thoughts aside, letting my focus shift wholeheartedly to the brilliant ending I'd make sure this match had. Everyone had played their hearts out—Wood was playing with shoddily healed ribs, for Christ's sake—I owed them a grand finale.

My heart was thrumming as I opened the door, my senses fired up and ready to play, though to my surprise, I emerged into a crowd of angrily booing Gryffindors. I halted, shocked, thinking the hostility was directed toward me, though I quickly realized that their stares were riveted on the other side of the pitch.

And on said other side of the pitch stood Irik Viper, uniformed and ready to play, unbearable smirk in place.

"Ladies and gents," Lee's voice crackled, filled with suspense, "we have ourselves a Quidditch match."


	16. Brevity is the Soul of Victory

**Settling the Score**

Brevity is the Soul of Victory

"Captains, shake hands."

Wood's glare was colder than the temperature outside as he stared down Marcus Flint, whose ridiculing eyes were bright black and galling. The usual roar of the audience had silenced into less than a murmur as the two faced off in the center of the field, silent and unmoving, their breath coming out in fleeting puffs in the wintry air.

They stood at equal heights, barely a foot of space separating Flint's burly frame from Wood's leaner one, and the result was a glare-match fit for the Winter Olympics. Viper, standing off to Flint's right, was watching Wood with a darkly amused expression, posture characteristically arrogant and blasé, while the rest of the teams were gathered by their goal posts, waiting for their new Seekers to be sworn in.

All that was needed was the handshake. Seconds passed. Neither moved.

"Captains," Hooch repeated more firmly, "_shake hands_."

Silence met the request. Wood's jaw was set and Flint's leer was in place—neither had any intention of initiating the gesture. The stands were humming with the sound of bated breath; every spectator was watching, every teammate was waiting, every referee was standing by, every professor was expecting trouble—not a single person was focused on anything other than the tension spiraling between the two captains standing in the center of the field.

Not a single person but me. I happened to be the wild-haired wreck standing beside Wood, not paying a single shred of attention.

No, my head was still reeling from the cascade of developments that had just transpired not five minutes ago—honestly, this match was on bloody _heroin_. First, Lee announced that not only was Dorian Flotts out of the game for what seemed to be no apparent reason, but Irik Viper had magically been relieved of his suspension because, according to Snape, 'I gave the detention, so it's within my jurisdiction to invalidate it.'

He then proceeded to ask Lee if he even knew what the word jurisdiction meant, which started all kinds of wonderful arguments and dictionary citations, until Viper and I were finally granted our customary five-minute warm-up. God knows that went awry. It made my head spin just thinking about it—Merlin, I could still hear Zach Davies' obnoxious voice…

* * *

"ALL BETS ARE OFF! I REPEAT: ALL BETS ARE OFF! CHANGE 'EM OR CONFIRM THEM NOW, OTHERWISE THEY'RE NULL AND VOID, PEOPLE! WILES AND VIPER ARE BACK!"

Zachary Davies had gone what one could logically, philosophically, and artistically call 'absolutely ballistic', yelling like a madman as he twittered about changing everyone's gambling preferences. People were flooding the blonde Seventh Year like vultures, yelling out their new bets and adjusting the amounts they were gambling in light of the change in Seekers, and the result was chaos.

"Put two more galleons down for Andy!"

"Put me down for three on Viper!"

"One galleon for each, Davies!"

"Mate, that's not even gambling."

"Blimey, I'm a bit torn; Andy's bloody brilliant but Viper's fast as—_Jesus Christ_!"

"Was Jesus really that fast?"

"What? No—bloody _hell_, did you see that, though!? I'm sold, ten galleons on Andy!"

The corners of my lips curled slightly against the biting wind as I pulled up from a practice hairpin dive, having let myself plummet dangerously close to the floor before wrenching the tip of my broom upward, leveling. A few feet above me, I heard Viper streak by, the brief wind caused by the lightning speed of his broom ruffling the hair fallen loose from my ponytail.

My smile sobered quickly as I caught a brief flash of his leering face, the Slytherin crowd going wild as he suddenly pulled up straight into the air, arced backwards into an effortless loop and dove downward toward the ground. It was a cheap trick, not at all remotely hard, but he had a finesse about his flying that made anything he did look bloody fantastic and epic, and he milked it for all it's worth.

Useless idiot.

Leveling his broom with the ground, he shot me a smarmy smirk, raising his brows in a smug way as the cheers grew considerably high-pitched and female. I merely scoffed, shaking my head before wrenching my broom off to the side, launching back into flight. Honestly, Hooch had only given us five minutes to warm up – I wasn't going to spend it launched in some stupid competition of who-can-do-the-best-tricks.

Bringing my chin down toward my broom, I threw on the speed, determined to ignore his blatant challenges and do what I needed to do. I hadn't been on a broom since my disastrous try-out, which meant Viper had a huge leg-up in this situation, and I was growing a bit frustrated with how rusty certain things felt. My left turns felt uncomfortable, and some of my maneuvering wasn't as sharp as it usually was.

And to think agility was supposed to be what I had going for me.

Veering a cutting left, I cursed as my broom swerved the slightest bit too much, overshooting the turn. These were the little things daily practices ironed out—the things I shouldn't be having problems with. Viper was flipping and swerving up a storm, his flying immaculate after weeks of grueling training, and mine was having little snags here and there.

Sighing irritably, I lowered my pace, shrugging the turn off and getting ready to try it again. However, within seconds, I felt Viper speeding up beside me, and for a moment I thought he was going to try and race me. Feeling my annoyance piquing—hell if I was going to use up all my energy on racing—I gritted my teeth, though the moment he reached my regulated pace he stopped accelerating.

Oh, lovely. So all he wanted was to chit-chat. And here I was, getting annoyed for no reason.

"Your left turn's shit," he drawled smugly, drawing his broom within inches of mine and sneering. "In case you've forgotten, this is how it's done."

"_Bloody_—!" Without any other form of warning whatsoever, he'd wrenched his broom into a cutting left directly in front of mine, sending me screeching to a halt to keep from crashing into him. Nearly losing my balance from the total shift of momentum, I flew backwards a few feet to try and stabilize, anger sparking dangerously as Viper soared off with a throaty guffaw.

That stupid little useless piece _of_—

"Laaadiiess and geeenntss!" Lee suddenly boomed, the sound of his magnified voice cutting through my spiraling anger. Eyes narrowed, I forced my gaze up to the booth, hoping perhaps a good ol' dose of Lee Jordan could help me find my stride. "Now that we've gotten everything sorted, I believe I have some new introductions to do!"

A good bit of laughter and cheers filled the audience, everyone but the Slytherins finding Lee's comments amusing and entertaining, and Lee made a grand show of clearing his throat. "Now, as you all know, Dorian Flotts has been taken out of the game for reasons Professor Snape has yet to disclose, though, knowing our dear Severus, I'm sure they're perfectly innocent and justified and reasonable and the very picture of fair."

His sarcasm was about as easy to miss as a hippogriff in a conga line.

"On the Gryffindor side, Fiona Price was injured, thank _Merlin_—" a sharp smack upside the head from McGonagall followed this statement, prompting a sharp inhalation and a hasty, "she'll be severely missed; send her a fruit basket." A brief squabble ensued, in which Lee clearly tossed out a scandalized 'What do you mean, "_have some tact_"!?', though after a moment, his voice returned, composed.

"Now, due to this switch-out, I'm pleased to announce that we have two new Seekers coming in—or should I say, two old ones," he pressed on, as if there had been no interruption. I felt my lips twitch despite myself—Lee really was something else. "So, without further ado…"

My slight smile turned into an all-out snort of laughter when his voice suddenly took on a Martin Luther King quality, vibrating with melodrama. "People of Hogwarts, I give you a dream—a vision—a legend!" he cried, his rich voice rumbling through the stands and easily filling the entire arena.

"She's incredible, she's almighty, she's bloody terrifying when she's angry! Her Grislow Feint can make you shiver, her Bottleneck Dive will make you cry! She eats snitches for breakfast, she eats snitches for lunch, she eats snitches for dinner, _hell, she even eats snitches for her midnight snack—_"

"Mr. Jordan—"

"She's dangerous, she's out-for-blood, she's a savage Amazon woman—!"

"Mr. Jordan, _really_!"

"—_she's Andy Wiles_!"

I couldn't help but choke out a strangled laugh as cheers filled the stands, unable to keep it in any longer. I'd never been compared to a savage Amazon woman in my entire life, what with my pale skin and dash of freckles, and despite my growing sense of frustration I couldn't help but shake my head at the ridiculousness of it all. Giving a brief wave, I tossed Lee a pointed look from my broom, smiling begrudgingly as he merely winked.

Oh, if Kats only knew what she was missing.

Swinging my attention to the wild audience, I spotted Gabe amidst the rowdy clan of the Seventh Year male Gryffindors, lips twitching at the stupid thumbs-up he sent in my direction. I felt the knot of tension clenched within my stomach loosening slightly, trying to make myself feel a bit lighter.

I shouldn't stress this too much, it was messing with my head—I was overanalyzing and over-thinking my movements, and things were coming out wrong. I just needed to relax a bit; let things come naturally. Right now everything felt slow and heavy, and I was letting myself get overwhelmed by little mistakes—and this was all in the bloody _warm_ up. I just need to relax, breathe, and fly.

_Relax, breathe, and fly._

After a few minutes, the cheering died down, and a sense of expectation hung in the air as everyone awaited Viper's introduction. I stifled a snort at the idea of what Lee would come up with, wondering how on earth he'd keep his disdain for the Slytherin down to a level that McGonagall would tolerate.

Apparently it wasn't a problem for him, however, because he'd taken instead to eating a sandwich, oblivious to the waiting crowd. McGonagall sent him a pointed look, though Lee merely smiled innocently, motioning to his sandwich. "Nothing like liverwurst on a stormy afternoon."

She arched a brow, expression expectant and unamused. Lee remained stubbornly oblivious, brow furrowing. "Did you want some?"

"Mr. Jordan."

"Yes, Minerva?"

You could simply hear her withering glare through the megaphone. "Haven't you forgotten someone?"

Lee feigned confusion for a moment, scratching his head. "I dunno, Professor, I can't think of—_oh_!" he exclaimed suddenly, smacking his head in realization. "Oh, of course, how thickheaded of me, I can't believe I almost forgot him!"

McGonagall rolled her eyes briefly before settling back with a satisfied air, giving a nod of approval as Lee grabbed the megaphone yet again.

"Everyone give it up for Martin the Towel Boy!" he cheered, making McGonagall's expression instantly sour. "He's been doing an excellent job distributing moist towelettes throughout the whole season, and I think it's about time we showed some appreciation, yeah? You go, Martin!"

The Gryffindors went wild as the scrawny towel boy was propelled forward by a raucous horde of students, giving a shy smile and waving the towel clutched within his hand a bit awkwardly. "That's right, Martin, you wave your towel!" Lee sang, though McGonagall promptly ripped the megaphone out of his hand, heaving a sharp sigh.

"Since Mr. Jordan seems to have developed a suspiciously selective case of amnesia, I will finish off the introductions," she announced, a touch of derision in her tone. "Reclaiming his position of four years as Seeker for the Slytherin team will be Irik Viper. Mr. Viper and Ms. Wiles are in the midst of their five-minute warm up, after which the match will recommence. Best of luck to both teams, and remember," at this point she became frightening, her eyes sharpening into stalagmites.

"_Keep it clean_."

* * *

"Captains, refusing to shake hands qualifies as an official forfeit," Hooch's voice boomed over the loudspeaker, pulling me out of my reverie as my eyes refocused. Apparently I hadn't missed much—the image of Wood and Flint still standing a solid foot away from each other, eyes locked and expressions steely, redefined itself before me.

An impatient sigh worked its way out of my throat—_honestly_, enough was enough. Defending my honor was great and all, but I wanted to play some bloody Quidditch.

"You're slut's getting impatient, Wood," Flint goaded in a throaty murmur, cutting a glittering glance at me. "I'm sure she's eager to get on a broom—from what I hear, she can't go very long without something shoved between her legs."

My eyes instantly veered into a roll—well, color me shocked. He went for the sexist insult. See, here's the thing with Slytherin insults: they're wonderfully formulaic. If you're a girl, you're a worthless slut. You could be a sodding nun and this would still apply. If you're a guy, you're a poof or a coward, and your _girlfriend's_ a worthless slut. It's a beautiful system, really; makes it very hard to actually feel offended.

Despite this, however, I felt Wood physically tense beside me, and Flint's lips curled into an ugly sneer at the reaction. "Wood, it's fine, he's a stupid oaf whose shoe size matches his IQ—just shake his hand and get it over with," I murmured from a few inches behind him, keeping my voice low enough to elude the avidly listening audience.

"Aw, how sweet," Flint mocked equally quietly, black eyes flickering over to me. "You tell him what to do. Is this a dominatrix sort of thing?"

"She does like that, if memory serves," Viper drawled from beside him, and I could feel Wood's violent reaction to sound of his voice.

"If you even _touch_ her—"

I put a furtive hand on the back of his shoulder as he made to move, trying to calm him as I tossed Viper a cutting look.

"If you're referring to the part where I kneed you in the bollocks four times, I'd be more than happy to do it again," I said, cool tone coupled with a frosty smile as Viper's jaw tightened somewhat. I held his gaze for a moment before glancing back over at Wood, unsurprised to see him unmoving and rigid.

He honestly had to be the most stubborn thing I'd ever met in my life.

"Oh, for the love of God," I sighed, exasperation flooding my face as I pulled him to the side for a moment, turning him so that his back was to Flint and Viper and lowering my voice even further, "Wood, I say this with all gratitude, here, but you're being an idiot."

He was barely listening to me, turbulent gaze straying back over his shoulder to where Viper stood sneering, and I had to grab his chin and force him to look me in the eye; testosterone, honestly. "_Listen to me_, damn it, I'm not talking for my health, here," I growled, bringing my hand up and smacking him upside the head, which finally garnered a response.

"Bloody hell, woman," he growled in surprise, glare finally snapping over to me. "_What_?"

"You're letting them get to you, and it's stupid," I scolded, bringing his chin level to mine; I felt like I was talking to a five year old. "I could walk around the school wearing a sodding chastity belt and they'd probably stuff sickles in my bra and ask me how much—just _ignore_ them." Talk about the student becoming the teacher—'don't let them get to you' was practically Wood's creed, second only to 'stick to the game book'.

"I'm not letting them get to me," he began irritably, though the pointed look I threw him made him roll his eyes and, after a revelatory moment, sigh. "Fine, I'm letting them get to me."

"Yeah, you are—so get over it and shake the troll's hand so I can beat the shit out of Viper, alright?"

His eyes remained dark and lined with an edge, though the tight set of his jaw loosened ever so slightly. "Since when are you more levelheaded than I am?"

I felt the corners of my mouth twitch, though before I could say anything, Flint's mocking drawl interrupted. "I'm sorry, did you want a room?"

Wood's eyes darkened with annoyance as he turned back around to face the ugly Slytherin, grabbing his hand before he could say anything more and giving it a rough, reluctant shake that ended as abruptly as it began. "We're ready to go, Hooch," he called out to the woman hovering up in the air, and a squawk of irritated relief that could only belong to Alicia Spinnet sounded through the air.

"Alright, teams, we're _finally_ ready to assemble," Hooch announced to the pitch with a hint of a tone, beckoning the respective players to join in the center of the field. "Get in your formations—Seekers up, Chasers spread, Keepers back to the goals," she quipped, the Chasers dutifully working into a spread offense as Viper shot straight up into the air. I made to follow suit, though before I could go, I felt a pull on my arm.

"Keep your hairnet on, Spinnet, I was telling them to hurry u—" I cut off my sentence as my eyes landed on a pair that weren't wide, blue, and obnoxious, but instead dark and amber.

"Thanks," Wood said, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck as he took in my surprise, "for keeping me in line back there—I don't really know what got into me." And then, after a moment, "I'm sorry I underestimate you sometimes."

The bafflement on my face must've been pretty evident, for he did little more than give my arm a light tug before wheeling around and flying off to the goal posts, leaving my rather dazed 'no problem' to fizzle out in the air.

And I repeat: this match was on _heroin_. The scary thing is, by this point, I didn't even know the half of it. Hell, I didn't even know the _eighth_.

* * *

"Montague takes the shot—_no good_! Spectacular block by Wood; Spinnet with the hand-off."

For every blessed second of the opening twenty minutes, everything was fine. Well, by fine I mean Angelina getting fouled a few thousand more times, the temperature dropping to unbearable lows, the thickening mist making it almost impossible to see anything, and Flint and Montague finding immense joy in trying to crush me between their burly frames.

You know, normal stuff. Expected. Easy-peasy.

My left turns were still giving me a bit of trouble, and Viper had smacked me on the bum with a demeaning guffaw at least three times, but all in all, things were keeping stable. The scores were still relatively even, with Gryffindor leading by slight margin at the moment, but the lead was fluctuating every three minutes or so, so none of that really mattered.

What mattered was the Snitch. And thus far, the damn thing was nowhere to be found. I'd spent the first fifteen minutes hovering in the dead center of the field, silent and unmoving, stare sharp and trained to react to even the slightest of glimmers—the sparkle of a bracelet, the gleam of an earring, the flash of a camera.

Fifteen minutes. Not one sighting.

It was frustrating, since I'd spotted it at least seven times from the stands while Fiona had been faffing about, but at least Viper was having just as little success. We were both on a silent vigil now, prowling about the pitch like predators, minds immersed in the kind of focus that mutes everything but the whispering whir of tiny, golden wings fluttering in the distance.

And Lee Jordan.

"Merlin, another stunner by Gryffindor Keeper Oliver Wood—the man's on fire!" his voice boomed through the stands as Wood deflected a tricky corner shot, the Quaffle ricocheting off the end of his broom. "Merlin, I don't know where this sudden burst of motivation's coming from, but I have the faintest suspicion that it has to do with a certain curly-haired Seeker coming back into the game…"

My head shot up—did he… did he seriously just—

"I think we all know what I'm talking about, here; they make it obvious as—_gah_!"

He ducked as a Bludger came hurtling at him, courtesy of the bat I'd yanked out of George's hand and slammed it with. He snatched up the megaphone immediately after it rebounded, expression positively scandalized, "Could the aforementioned curly-haired Seeker please learn how to take a bloody _joke_?"

I scowled as his eyes met mine, brows lifting in an irritated look that clearly said 'try that again and see what happens', though his appalled face merely crumpled into a cheeky grin. I rolled my eyes, shaking my head as I tossed George back his bat and caught sight of Wood staring up at the commentary booth with a completely exasperated expression.

After a moment, he dropped his gaze down to mine, and I instantly tensed. It was instinctive—things were just so damn confusing between us, I didn't know what to think anymore. We shared a look of rather forced annoyance that had a definite layer of awkwardness to it before I hurriedly glanced away, feeling skittish all of a sudden.

Goddamnit, of all the things to say… comments like that really didn't help my situation at all. They simply stirred the tension, spiked the uncertainty, and launched my brain into a horribly inconvenient bout of overanalyzing that detracted my attention away from whatever it was supposed to be on and instantaneously redirected it to answering the godforsaken question of what the sodding hell was going on with u—

"Oi, Seeker!" Alicia's angry snarl sliced through my thoughts, jolting me back to reality as my stare snapped up to hers. She was racing toward me on her broom, eyes bright and vicious as she hurled her finger toward the other end of the field. "How about _paying fucking attention_!"

Face crumpling in confusion, I glanced over to where she was pointing—and my stomach dropped. Viper was hurtling up into the air at an alarming speed, figure streamlined against his broom, his body a barely discernable streak of colors: he'd spotted the Snitch.

I was off in a heartbeat.

"…tosses the Quaffle to Warrington an—_bloody hell_, the Seeker's are off!" Lee cried suddenly, drawing an instantaneous roar from the stands as everyone jolted to their feet in surprise. "Viper rockets toward the sky with Wiles close on his tail! He's got a definite lead but she's closing in quick!"

Anger and frustration all but blinded me as I barreled forward, the wind cutting into my eyes and fiercely whipping about my hair—how the hell could I have let this happen!? I lose for focus for one fucking _second_ and that stupid _idiot_ manages to—_argh_! Throwing all caution to the wind, I threw on even more speed, fueled by the frustrated rage flooding my thoughts.

I had to catch that Snitch. I had to catch that bloody Snitch—if I didn't, these past four hours of living hell would mean _nothing_. Every foul Angelina suffered through, every rib Wood broke, every cut Alicia endured, every bout of rage Fred quelled, every dirty Bludger George got slammed with, every bruise Katie ignored—it wouldn't matter, because in the end, _I _fucked it all up.

In the end, _I_ was too busy daydreaming to do the one thing that would make it all worth it. In the end, I—the girl who begged to be put back in—lost them the game.

No way in hell. That Snitch was mine.

"…barely see them anymore… can't tell… tied…"

Lee's voice began fading as I continued rocketing toward the darkening sky, Viper now only a dozen or so feet ahead of me. He was starting to swerve a bit, his broom leaning the slightest bit to the right, and I had just begun to mirror the motion when all of a sudden, out of nowhere, he cut a knife-like left.

I cursed, violently swinging my broom to the left to try and follow him, though I predictably overshot the turn and ended up spiraling backward. "_Damnit_!" I cried, fighting fiercely to stabilize my out-of-control broom, though by the time I did, it was too late; Viper had disappeared into one of the many thick storm clouds clinging to the sky.

My heart was pounding as my desperate gaze snapped from cloud to cloud—there were hundreds of them. Black, billowing, and entirely obscuring, they were gathered around me like a ring of doors, giant question marks hovering over every single one. _Which one, which one, which one_!? I chorused in my head, stare flitting about wildly.

Last I'd seen, he'd gone to the left. But what if that was just to throw me off? He knew my left turns were giving me trouble—that could've been a way to get me off his back. But then again, would he really risk losing sight of the Snitch for that? He'd had a few feet left on me, he didn't need the space. But what if…?

Questions flooded my mind at the speed of light, each consideration overriding the previous one, until randomly, impulsively, I cut a knife-like right, surging into a charcoal storm cloud.

And everything went black.

The air in the cloud was thick with saturation, my robes instantly soaking as I blindly maneuvered through the darkness. Goosebumps flooded my skin as my teeth fell into a vicious chatter; Merlin, it was fucking freezing in here, and I couldn't bloody see through the condensation. I reached back into my robes and fumbled for a set of goggles, though I promptly remembered that these robes were spares—only Seekers' robes had pocketed goggles.

"Shit," I hissed, blinking furiously as the ice-like shards of moisture dug into my eyes. They were watering like crazy, causing my already darkened surroundings to blur and making it all the harder to maneuver. Despite the sting, however, I forced them to stay as wide-open as possible. I had to find that Snitch.

Teeth bared against the cold and knuckles white against my broom, I suffered through the remaining stretch of cloud, ice gathering along my eyelashes by the time I emerged back into the open sky. It was darkening now, the sun setting quite quickly, though I could only linger on this for a moment before I saw a flash of green robes diving into a nearby storm cloud.

I was off like a shotgun, shooting into the cloud like a rocketing bullet and ignoring the ripple of shock that the cold shot through me. Viper was only a dozen or so feet away, his pace appropriately labored and cautious due to the harsh weather conditions, though I, being me, merely braced myself, ducked my head down, and ripped into full speed.

Cautious was never my style.

I shot past him like lightning, eliciting a ragged roar as I blindly raced after the faint glimmer of gold zigzagging before me. My eyes were practically screaming in pain, entirely bloodshot, but I forced them to stay unblinkingly locked on the Snitch, refusing to back down.

It was only ten feet away. Five. Three. _One…_ "_Gah_!" I choked out as my broom wrenched back, courtesy of a vicious yank from Viper. My fingers fell just short of the golden surface, reflexively abandoning the ball to clasp about my broomstick for balance, and I heard Viper's growl of triumph as he raced passed me.

Recovering quickly, I threw the speed back on, eyes slitted and turbulent as I approached from behind—that move was completely against the rules and he knew it. We were neck and neck within a matter of seconds, the Snitch streaking forward a good dozen feet ahead, and Viper let out a growl of displeasure before angling his broom and ramming straight into my body.

"_Jesus_!" I cried as I swerved wildly, losing control for the briefest of seconds before swinging my broom right back in line with his. Before I could fully stabilize, however, he rammed into me again, and I choked out a curse as I went hurtling to the side in a frenzied spiral. That bloody _fuck_! Moves like that were illegal for a reason—they could be lethal at speeds this high!

Readjusting my grip on the handle, I wrenched myself out of the spiral, arcing backwards into a sharp loop that put me right back into my former place alongside Viper—but this time, I was ready. Like the predictable Slytherin that he was, he made to shove me aside again, though before he made contact, I yanked my broom back into a dead halt—from 70 to 0 in less than a second.

He didn't have time to readjust and instead went flying to the side, his balance entirely helter-skelter, and I didn't hesitate a moment: I went streaking after the Snitch.

"Don't even think about it, bitch!" I heard him snarl behind me as I neared the skittering ball, my hair whipping angrily about my face as my velocity hit dangerous heights. I wasn't listening—my eyes were trained purely on the flash of gold hurtling forward, so close yet so bloody far, waiting to be caught, waiting to finish the damn game, waiting to put an end to this godforsaken—

_FLASH_!

I staggered back as bolt of lightning ripped through the sky, cutting right through the darkness of the cloud in a zigzag of blinding white light. I slipped down a few inches on my broom in shock, hands having to grab at the wood to keep from falling off—holy _hell_, that was close! Heart racing, I glanced over at the Snitch—it was hovering anxiously in place, a whirring hummingbird in a shroud of darkness, and a bloom of relief swelled through me.

If the professors had spotted the lightning, the game would've been called off and the Snitch would've deactivated. Instead, it just seemed to be a bit disoriented—it was thrumming nervously from side to side, sparking a bit, and I wondered briefly if the lightning had interfered with the charm placed on it. I couldn't ponder this long, however, because within the same beat, the ball shot to the left, shot to the right, hovered for a moment…

And then it plunged.

I felt Viper take off the same moment as I did, both of our bodies flipping into 90-degree dives in a matter of half a second. Wind seared against me, freezing my damp hair into ice, chapping the raw skin of my cheeks, burrowing like shards of glass into my unprotected eyes, but I only pushed my broom to go faster, adrenaline surging through me like electricity.

This was it. This ended here. I didn't care if I got fucking hypothermia and lost half my face to frost bite—that Snitch would be in my hand at the end of this bloody dive!

The ball was little more than a blur of speed as it broke through the final bout of storm clouds, emerging into the clear night sky and hurtling toward the pitch below, and both Viper and I streamlined even further against our brooms—we were getting into the final stretch.

"Oi, Wiles," Viper gritted out as we streaked toward the ground, his voice fraying to shreds in the deafening wind, "when you lose…" he spiraled briefly for momentum, "and Wood doesn't want to fuck you anymore…" I pressed my lips together in restraint, grip growing white on my broomstick as we dove closer and closer to the ground, "remember that my door's always open…" he readjusted his grip, "for round two."

I heard the sneer in his wind-shredded voice and did my best to ignore it, merely pressing my lips even harder together and keeping my bloodshot eyes on the prize. We were closing in on the ground quickly, the Snitch getting within 400 hundred feet, 200 hundred feet, 100 hundred feet—neither Viper or I slowed, hurtling downward at full speed.

"…lina gets blocked, Derrick with the stea—THE SEEKERS ARE BACK!" Lee's voice suddenly erupted as we exploded back onto the scene, ripping through the air, headed straight for the ground. The crowd burst into frenzy as everyone scrambled to their feet, clinging to the railings and straining to see what was going on, though the mayhem fell on deaf ears as Viper and I plunged.

_80 feet… 70 feet… 60 feet…_

Neither of us slowed. "…they're neck and neck in a dive, the Snitch only a few feet away from them and—_damn_, son, they're cutting it close!"

_50 feet… 40 feet…_

Full speed. "…flying straight toward the bloody ground with no signs of slowing—!"

_30 feet… 25 feet… 20 feet…_

"…need to _stop or else_—!"

At fifteen feet, Viper pulled back with a furious snarl, yanking his broom into a stall that managed to bring him to a stable halt about five feet or so from the ground. I didn't. My eyes were focused on the Snitch, everything else blocked out—the speed of my broom, the proximity of the ground, the screams of my teammates telling me to pull up—nothing else bloody mattered.

I stretched my hand out; it was only inches, centimeters, _millimeters_—

"—_Jesus Christ, she's going to bloody kill herself_—!"

_SMACK!_

Right at the very last moment, without any sort of warning, something long and hard slammed right into the side of my head and sent me flying off my broom. The shift in momentum had me hurling through the air, my broom crashing into the ground and shattering into a hundred splintered pieces, and I followed suit, my back crashing into the hard-packed earth with a deafening _thud_.

And then, for the briefest of seconds, everything went black.

Everything slowed down.

Everything stilled.

I felt like my eyes were open, but I couldn't really see anything. I heard vague whooshes and a faint ringing in my ears, but other than that, everything was pretty quiet. Within seconds, I realized my head was throbbing, but I didn't quite know how to move my hand to it. Everything was just… blurry.

"…wake up, you chit—_wake the fuck up_!"

"…say something, _please_, if you hear us!"

"…get Madame Pomfrey!"

"…not responding, damn it!…"

The voices all whirled into a confusing ring of fragments, blending and inverting into each other like mad, and I managed a raspy groan of irritation in response. They all fell silent, and I suddenly felt a pressure on my cheek; a hand, it seemed. "Andy," a low voice said; familiar, accented, tight with worry. I struggled to place it as I pressed my cheek into the warm, calloused fingers, enjoying the feeling. "Andy, can you hear me?"

"Mmm," I responded vaguely, delighted when I felt yet another hand brush against my forehead, smoothing back my hair.

"If you can hear me, say yes," the voice pressed on, the tension and anxiety so apparent that I almost slurred out a 'who died?'.

Instead, I managed a hoarse, "Yes."

Exhalations of relief seemed to flutter around me, and slowly, surely, I began to reorient myself. I had been flying. I was in a dive. I was about to level my broom, and something smacked me off of it—a wince immediately flashed over my face as pain roared to life in my head. God_damnit_, that hurt like mofo.

"Can you open your eyes?" the voice pressed on, and instantly, I knew whose it was. In fact, I knew whose everyone's was—Katie was the one hyperventilating in my bloody ear, Alicia was spit-firing something about impaling Viper with his own femurs, Angelina was barely breathing, Fred was telling Angelina it'd be alright, and George was hissing out death threats alongside Alicia.

And then something else struck me.

"Open your eyes for me, love," Wood pressed tightly, worried thumb brushing over my cheek, and with an obscene amount of effort, I managed to crack my eyelids open into a wince. The blaring torchlight of the pitch assaulted my irises and my pupils instantly shrank, eyes taking a moment to focus on their surroundings. Everything was blurry at first.

After a minute, however, Wood's face sharpened into view. It was haggard and worse for wear, his jaw clenched and his brow a series of furrowed lines that made his cheekbones look even sharper, and at the moment, it was looming mere inches over mine. "Do you know who you are, Andy?" he asked, the urgency in his tone reflected in his darkened eyes, and despite the dizzying pain, the disorientation, and the overall lightheadedness, I felt the corners of my lips curling.

"Yeah," I managed to croak out, my voice hoarse and thick, eyes holding his gaze as everyone seemed to silence in tense expectation. "I'm the girl who just won you your Quidditch match."

And just as his brow furrowed in confusion, I held up my closed fist, uncurling my fingers and letting the Golden Snitch flutter out of them like a merry, newly freed hummingbird.

And within two seconds flat, the entirety of the Quidditch pitch positively _erupted_.

"Holy Mother of—_Andy Wiles has caught the Snitch_!" Lee roared, his head about to spin-off Exorcist style if his voice was any indication. "Gryffindor wins! GRYFFINDOR BLOODY WINS! GRYFFINDOR—DEAR LORD, I'M HAVING A HEART ATTACK OF HAPPINESS! GRYFFINDOR IS THE WINNER! GRYF—"

The megaphone was promptly snatched by someone, and the dry, disgusted voice of Severus Snape filled the stadium. "In case you haven't gathered from Mr. Jordan's veritable meltdown, Gryffindor has won. For those deluded few that seem to think this is of note, please go to your common rooms to celebrate, as the shrill cry of the self-believingly triumphant Gryffindor gives me a migraine. If I hear you, detention for six months. That's all."

Within half a second, Lee had repossessed the megaphone and gone back to his victory chant, though it was almost impossible to hear over the roar of the crowd. Fights were breaking out, cheers were soaring over the East stands, boos were flooding over the West stands, streamers were being shot into the air—it was mayhem.

I started laughing despite my headache, relief surging through me like a resuscitative life-force. It was over. The match was bloody over. _Thank God_.

"You psychotic bint!" Alicia shrieked, breaking me out of my thoughts with a wince. She was staring at me with her gigantic blue eyes, livid and thrilled at the same time, relief intermingled with anger. "I thought you'd died!"

I snorted, grinning as cheekily as I could given my exhausted state. "Surprise."

"Don't you ever do that again," Katie demanded, eyes wide and earnestly relieved, "I almost had a heart-attack, I was so scared."

"We mean it, Andy," Angelina warned, expression hard and authoritative, "you scared us half to death with that stunt." After a beat, however, she grinned. "It was pretty spectacular, though."

My smile grew wide. "And it would've been even better if something hadn't whacked me in the sodding face—"

George let out a growl of anger, glare cutting over to the Slytherin side. "Viper's beyond dead."

"Was it him?"

"Yeah," Fred said with a scowl. "Miserable git saw you were about to wipe the floor with him and smacked you off your broom with his broomstick."

I laughed, despite myself. "Classy."

Friendly banter like this continued for the new few minutes, my body feeling the lightest it had in weeks, though it wasn't until Madame Pomfrey scuffled over in a frazzle and started asking me questions that I realized something. Wood hadn't said anything yet.

Not a single word.

I glanced over at him briefly, my brow furrowing the slightest bit as I proved to Madame Pomfrey that yes, I could indeed count to ten. He had that inscrutable look on his face again—the one where his eyes were locked, his lips formed an expressionless line, and his jaw was guarded. It seldom meant good news.

"…and now backwards, dear."

"10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5… 4… 3…" and then my attention span snapped in half. "What's wrong?"

"Er… she means two, one," Katie assured Madame Pomfrey, though I barely heard her, eyes focused on Wood's averted ones. He didn't respond.

A knot of tension twisted in my stomach—shit. This could _not_ be good. "Oliver," I tried again, hoping the use of his first name would inspire some sort of reaction, but he simply remained still. "Er… I don't know if you heard Lee's mental implosion, but we sort of won."

The light-hearted joke fell flat. My brow furrowed, mouth parting to try again, but he straightened suddenly before I could, glancing up at everyone else. "I have to go." He gave a tight smile. "Potions essay—you know how it is. Amazing job, all of you, really; you're the best team a captain could ask for."

And with that, he merely got to his feet, grabbed his broom, and walked off, ignoring the cheers trailing behind him. My head started spinning for reasons entirely unrelated to my injury: what the _hell_ was that? Something had clearly pissed him the hell off, otherwise he wouldn't have just walked away from a victory in the biggest match of the season like that.

"Now wait just one minute," Madame Pomfrey was calling behind him, "you have ribs to be healed, young man!" He paid her no attention, however, disappearing into the castle without so much as a backward glance.

I impulsively got to my feet. It hurt like hell, but I tried to play off the dizziness as nothing for Madame Pomfrey's sake—I had to talk to him. Now. Otherwise he would just brood over it for a while, come to a conclusion, and then bottle it up. Lock it away. Shove it into the recesses of his mind and never let it see the light of day.

And I _hated_ that.

"And where do you think you're—"

"Castle; be right back."

"Miss Wiles, you are in no condition—!"

"I'm fine, Madame, really, it'll just take a second," I reasoned, already walking off and hoping to God she didn't hit me with a stunner to knock me out. My vision was spotting a bit, body feeling a bit like jelly, but I continued forward as steadily as I could, roaring cheers followed my path. I threw the stands a quick wave of acknowledgement, but my mind was somewhere else entirely as I exited the pitch.

More specifically, it was on Wood. And the fact that, even on the happiest of occasions, something always seemed to go wrong. And the fact, somehow, it was always my fault. And the fact that this bothered me. A lot.

Irritation began prickling my skin as I pushed the doors to the Entrance Hall open, my thoughts fueling the emotion—honestly, couldn't he just be happy for once? We'd won the damn game; wasn't that enough? What was with the dramatics? _Storming off the pitch—yeah, real mature, Wood_, I thought irritably. _Not like you were ruining the moment for anyone or anythi—_

My thoughts silenced the moment the heavy door closed behind me. Standing in the center of the hall, bruised and battered, gazing up at the portraits with a dark expression, was Wood. And suddenly all I had was nerves. Lots and lots of fluttering nerves. He must've heard me come in—his profile was to me and he was only a few feet away from the door—but he gave no visible indication of it.

I tensed a bit, tucking a matted strand of hair behind my ear and clearing my throat. "What happened to your Potions paper?"

His eyes flitted over to the next portrait, the movement tight and controlled. "Why aren't you in the Hospital Wing?" His voice matched his face: raspy, tense, hardened.

"I figured fighting with you might be more fun," I joked, though again, he failed to see the humor in it.

"Sorry to disappoint," he replied tersely.

My skin bristled slightly, surprise fluttering through me. He was really _off_. "Can you at least tell me what's wrong?" I ventured, though apparently this was the wrong thing to say. His jaw immediately clenched, eyes blackening into a dark shade of coffee as they remained dutifully trained on a sleeping portrait. I took an unsure step forward, frown rippling my face, "Oliver—"

"I only asked for one thing today, Wiles," he interjected, anger simmering dangerously beneath the surface. "One bloody thing."

My frown deepened. "What are you talking about?"

This seemed to set him off, for he swung his frustrated eyes over to mine, abandoning his portrait-gazing pretense. "Does it give you some sort of thrill or something?" he growled, exasperation and anger bright in his stare. "Do you get a high, is that it?"

Confusion swept through me, crumpling my entire face, "What the _hell_ are you on about?"

"Oh, come off it, Andy," he scoffed, shaking his head, "you know exactly what I'm talking about."

"Actually, I _don't_," I snapped, irritation starting to set in now. It was one thing to be angry with someone, it was another to act like the reason why was the most obvious thing in the world. It was what he said next, however, that really struck a chord.

"Well, then you're really fucking selfish."

"Ex_cuse_ me?" I sputtered, indignation crashing through me like a tidal wave. I'd just nearly killed myself trying to make this match worth all the hell it'd put everyone through, and yet I was _selfish_? Things had just gotten a hell of a lot more personal, and quite frankly, now I was pissed. "By what kind of skewed logic do you figure that?"

"By the same logic that tells me you don't give a _damn_ about the people that care about you," he growled, making the outrage soar to new heights within me.

"What gives you the bloody right to—"

"Do you even realize how fucking terrified everyone gets when you pull the stunts you do?" he interjected, stare knifelike and cutting, jaw tight with frustrated anger. "Do you not see the way Bell nearly faints, Johnson has a panic attack, and Spinnet's ready to charge in and risk her life to save you?"

Slowly, word by word, accusation by accusation, I realized what he was talking about. And an overwhelming wave of understanding crashed over me—the final dive. Naturally he hated it; it was exactly the kind of move he despised: dangerous, risky, and tending toward the life-threatening side. But still, what the hell was with this sudden explosion of hostility? "Look, I'm sorry about the dive—"

"No, actually, you're not," he snapped, cutting me off entirely. "As far as you're concerned, it was a success, because, hey, we won the match! Our Seeker almost killed herself in the process, but no harm done!"

"Why are you getting so worked up about this?" I demanded, anger welling up alongside his—I mean, really, this was nothing new. I always broke Wood's rules; they were just too cookie-cutter for playing someone like Viper. "Nothing happened to me, I'm perfectly fine!"

"Yeah, _this_ time!" Wood growled, thrusting his hands up into the air angrily, acting as if I was missing some sort of point. "Just because you've been lucky enough to get through life unscathed doesn't mean you should go around tempting fate every ten seconds—believe me, Wiles, it's not always so fucking gracious!"

"I understand that, Wood, I'm not a little girl!"

"Well, you sure as hell remind me of one I used to know," he hissed icily, and something about the sentence shifted his entire demeanor. It stiffened, stilted—he drew back quickly, as if surprised by his own words.

Despite my anger, curiosity bloomed within me—clearly this was something personal. A piece of the elusive puzzle that was Oliver Wood. "Who?" I asked, tone still guarded and eyes narrowed, though he merely shook his head stiffly.

"No one."

"Wood—"

"Go to the Hospital Wing, Wiles."

"_Wood—_"

Just then, the doors of the Entrance Hall crashed open, admitting a flood of rowdy fans from the stands. "GRYFF-IN-DOR! GRYFF-IN-DOR! GRYFF-IN-DOR!" they were all chanting, shooting sparks into the air and waving banners, and just like that, the room went from quiet and tense to absolute mayhem.

The front few erupted into roars when they saw me standing there, obviously missing the clear distress etched onto my face, and before I knew it, I was swarmed—and Wood was officially nowhere to be found. "Andy! Andy! Andy!" they cried in triumph, lifting me up despite my protest, and my headache magnified by tenfold with all the jostling.

"Guys, no, really," I tried, struggling against their grips as they passed me from shoulder to eager shoulder, "put me down, I can't—" I winced as a blinding white shot of pain surged through my head from a particularly rough movement, my vision immediately spotting, "can't do this right now, I…"

A wave of dizziness suddenly shot through me, making my arms and legs feel like jelly, and slowly, my entire body felt incredibly weak. And then numb. The roaring chants, the jagged movements, the bright sparks being shot off, it was all becoming too much, and I started going into two-second blackouts. "Really… can't…"

"Whoa, whoa, guys, stop!" a familiar voice called, slowly but surely halting the momentum of the crowd. "Look at her, she looks like she's about to pass out, for Merlin's sake!" The jostling stopped for a few moments as everyone turned to look at me, silence slowly filtering through the room, and the last thing I remember was falling into a pair of strong arms, looking into a face of green eyes and ruffled blonde hair, and hearing a very distinct, "Shit."

And then everything went black.


	17. To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

**Settling the Score**

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

Coarse fingertips were skimming down the length of my waist, dropping swiftly along the curve, coasting into a slow, delicious freefall. A tan arm, hardened with waves of leanly toned muscle, held me tightly, hungrily, against a chest of similar build, trapped between the scouring skin of my back and the cold stone of the wall I was pressed against. His mouth was on mine—hot, demanding, pure friction.

My mind was racing. My skin was on fire. My nerves were electrified.

I'd never wanted something more in my entire life.

"Oliver," I managed to murmur against his mouth, my voice reduced to a gravelly growl in all my dizzying lust. He took my bottom lip between his teeth, dragging it outward slowly, tantalizingly, and my eyes threatened to roll into the back of my head—this was getting out of control. "Wood… I can't—"

"Ever shut up?" he completed in a low, husky drawl, lips curling at the corners as he brought them up the line of my jaw. Frissions of electricity began shooting through me, further weakening my resolve and coalescing into a ragged bolt of lightning as he reached the sensitive patch of skin below my ear. "Let's practice, then, shall we?"

"No," I managed to reply, mustering every last ounce of willpower I had to grit the word out—I wasn't sure why, but I simply knew I had to stop. There was a strange sense of urgency building within me, like I had to be somewhere really important, but with Wood kissing me the way he was, I couldn't for the life of me remember where. "I really have to be some—"

"_Shh_," he murmured against my ear, the hot air licking at the stray curls caught in its path and tickling the skin beneath, "we're practicing the whole shutting up thing, remember?"

I parted my mouth to respond, though the words promptly dissolved into a groan as his teeth took in the very tip of my earlobe, giving it a soft, playful nip. I was done for. My ears were my absolute weakness. This was on my nervous system, not me—I couldn't be blamed for this! My head lolled back as he embarked on his quest to completely lobotomize me, lips slowly brushing up the length of my ear, tongue flickering out every so often and eliciting many a hitched breath from my lungs.

My traitorous, mutinous, going-to-make-me-late-to-my-big-important-thing lungs.

"I honestly hate you," I announced in stubborn concession, though given the breathy, hungry way it came out, I might as well have said 'be the father of my children.'

He smiled against my ear, brushing it with the tip of his nose in a lighthearted gesture. "Well, that's unfortunate." The drawl was warm, teasing, and he gave my earlobe a final kiss before bringing his hand up and carefully angling my face back toward his. My pulse skyrocketed his expression: it was a bit more serious now—open, honest, and entirely unguarded. His forehead gently came down to rest against mine, his eyes a hazy, heavy-lidded amber, and I suddenly found that I couldn't breathe.

"Because I think I might love you."

And before even giving me a chance to react to the bloody atomic explosion of emotions that had just gone off within my body, he was kissing me again—slowly, deeply, in that melting kind of way that reduces people into puddles of former human… and I just _snapped_. All out, totally and completely, someone-give-this-girl-a-sodding-Rabies-shot-before-she-eats-the-children _snapped_.

Within the next five seconds, my legs were tightly wrapped around his waist, fingers tearing off the buttons of his half-buttoned Oxford shirt as he hoisted me onto a cluttered desk, knocking off a slew of papers and trinkets and sending them shattering against the floor. I realized briefly that we were in the Transfiguration room—what the _hell_ were we doing there?—though it really didn't matter much as his hand coursed up the length of my thigh, leaving a trail of spitfires in its wake.

I inhaled sharply at the sensation, mouth feral and hungry on his as I finally freed his shirt and tossed it in some arbitrary direction. My fingers instantly raked down the vast expanse of tan, smoothly rippled skin, eliciting a ragged sound from the back of his throat. "Miss Wiles," he groaned, and for some reason, this didn't strike me as odd—I merely slipped a hand into his scruffy brown hair and forced his lips back onto mine, kissing him feverishly.

"Miss Wiles," he said again, though this time it was in more of a growl—authoritative, possessive. He followed the exclamation by slamming me down against the desk, the movement rough and thrilling, my back hitting the wood with a resounding thud as I let out a sharp gasp.

"_Miss Wiles_!"

And then, suddenly, I wasn't on a desk anymore. The ground beneath me was soft and plush, covered in folds of warm, weathered cotton that smelled vaguely like hand sanitizer, and I glanced up at Oliver in confusion. However, instead of killer cheekbones and toasted almond eyes, I was looking into the stern, rounded, and distinctly annoyed face of Madame Pomfrey. "Miss Wiles," she said, her tone crisp and irritated. "You're moaning."

And then I screamed.

Looking back, this probably wasn't the most logical thing to do, but at the time, it seemed like a great plan. Madame Pomfrey simply rolled her eyes, shaking her head and muttering, "Really, now, you'd think I was Severus," as she handed me a vial of something purple and unpleasant looking. "Drink this."

Still completely and totally shaken, my gaze snapped down to the vial, eyes bright and disoriented—and then I realized I was in the Hospital Wing. The match, the fight with Oliver, the fainting: it all came rushing back to me at the speed of light, and I groaned as a headache predictably roared to life as a result. "Bloody hell…" I moaned, followed promptly by a sharp, "_ow_!"

My eyes snapped over to Madame Pomfrey's, outraged: she pinched me! Assault! Battery! "Language, Ms. Wiles," she snapped, tone curt and no-nonsense. "Now drink this, or I'll simply have to use a syringe."

I balked, hurriedly grabbing the vial and pouring it into my mouth—I hated needles. My face screwed up a bit as the viscous liquid snaked down my throat, the flavor nauseatingly sweet. "Merlin, what's this stuff made out of, Care Bears?"

She ignored me, fiddling about with bottles and measuring spoons as I tried to scrape the taste off my tongue. "That should take away the headache and clear off the effects of the Suentio Serum," she explained, bringing a glass bottle up to her eyelevel and carefully gauging it.

"Suentio Serum?" I asked, frowning up at the bottle she was holding and wondering what she was trying to discern.

"It's a new sleeping draught I'm testing," she replied tersely, "it's stronger than the Durmenta Elixir, more reparative." I nodded completely uninterestedly, wondering why I'd even asked in the first place, until she continued with: "The only problem is that it tends to cause uncannily vivid dreams, whereas Durmenta induces a dreamless sleep."

I instantly went scarlet, my cheeks turning a frightening shade of red that matched Madame Pomfrey's hair, though she seemed too busy with her tinkering to notice. "Really," I commented as casually as I could, though my voice was tinny and tight.

"I'm afraid so—images and emotions are experienced in very lurid detail, and they tend to make the sleep more fitful," she explained obliviously, and for a second, I thought I was off the hook. That is, of course, until she raised yet another beaker into the light, frowning up at the color in scrutiny. "Then again, I suppose you'd know that better than I would. Shall I alert Mr. Wood that you've awoken?"

I wanted to die.

I seriously wanted to just grab the nearest potion, chug it like a frat guy and bloody _die_. Absolutely mortified, I slowly sunk into the covers, face burning as I managed a tight, "I don't think that's necessary, no…"

"Very well, then," she replied as she spun around to tend to another patient, her tone pleasant for the first time since I'd woken, and my wide eyes slowly narrowed into a glare. Shrew.

Settling myself more comfortably into the hospital bed, I glanced about the wing, glower fading somewhat as remnants of my dream began swirling back into my awareness. I bit down hard on my lip, trying to ignore them—for Christ's sake, we'd just gotten into a _fight_. Why the hell couldn't I have had a dream about that instead? It was so much safer, so much more probable.

_Shut up, you idiot, you enjoyed every second of that dream_, a renegade voice said in the back of my head, and my stubborn streak flared in outrage. Alright, so maybe it was vaguely—read: unbelievably—enjoyable, but that didn't change the fact that it was inconvenient and out-of-place. I would've much preferred a Quidditch dream, or something more normal, like—

I halted briefly, struck by the realization that Wood and I snogging had almost become something normal. Sporadic, yes; illogical, totally; but nonetheless somewhat…_expected_. Lee had even commented on it in front of the entire Quidditch pitch, and although it was mildly embarrassing, it didn't blow anyone's mind off in shock. It was just kind of…

I shook my head roughly—enough. I didn't want to think about it anymore. At the moment, we were in a fight—a bloody weird one, too—and that was all that mattered. _Liar_, my brain growled. "Facilitator," I snapped back, looking wonderfully sane and completely at home in my hospital bed, and naturally, that was when Alicia, Angelina, and Kats decided to barrel in.

"Dear God, she's gone mental," Alicia gasped, scuttling over in her clacking heels and dropping to a crouch, clutching my hand. She looked genuinely alarmed. "Don't listen to the voices, Andy," she demanded, eyes wide and serious as they bored into mine. "They're not there, you're just crazy—"

"Is this a friend of yours, Gertrude?" I interjected, glancing over to the table lamp on my right and cocking my head to the side in question. Alicia's eyes bugged out in horror, and Angelina burst out laughing, Katie following suit. I promptly dropped the act, grinning darkly at the blonde as she slit her eyes and smacked my arm.

"Chit," she snapped.

"Idiot," I replied, snorting sardonically. "Honestly, who tells a schizophrenic person 'you're just crazy'…"

"Such an Alicia move," Katie muttered, though her eyes were practically glowing with relief, and it took all of three seconds for her to drop her calm and collected act and ambush me. "_Iwassobloodyworried_!" she cried, the sound muffled by my hair as she squeezed me to death and I spluttered and choked on the devil braid she called hair.

"Kats, you're killing her," Angelina said wryly.

"I don't care!"

"I think she might care," she observed, and I waved my hand around frantically in agreement, giving her a thumbs-up.

"Oh, fine," Katie conceded with a gusty sigh, pulling back and sending me into a oxygen-desperation-induced coughing fit, though her eyes were bright with sincerity. "I'm sorry, I was just really, really worried." She bit her lip, and slowly, tears began welling in her eyes, "I just couldn't stand the idea of something happening to you because of a Quidditch match that we put so much pressure on you to win for us when really all we cared about was everyone staying safe and—"

"_Kats_," Alicia interjected, her tone sharp and snappy. "This little Lifetime movie needs a commercial break."

"Lifetime what?" she asked, ever the Pureblood, and Alicia merely rolled her eyes.

"The bottom line is that we're really, really bloody happy you're okay," Angelina declared, walking over to the bedside and joining Alicia and Katie. She was smiling, though the remnants of her worry were on display in her appearance: her usually perfectly arranged braids were tousled, her eyes had bags underneath them, and she just looked totally knackered. In fact, all three of them did—Alicia had dark circles, Katie's eyes were bloodshot…

I was struck suddenly by what Wood had said earlier: _do you not see the way Bell nearly faints, Johnson has a panic attack, and Spinnet's ready to charge in and risk her life to save you?_ My eyes averted, guilt slowly making its way up my body. Okay, yeah, so maybe he had a bit of a point… but still, he took it above and beyond. Yeah, my friends got worried, but they also accepted the fact that that was just who I was.

Impulsive, stubborn Andy. Nonetheless…

"I'm sorry, guys," I muttered, bringing my stare back up to their faces. They were gathered in a ring around me, expressive canvases of relief, annoyance, and humor, and I felt the strongest swell of warmth and gratitude toward them—it wasn't everyday you found friends like this. "I know I do risky things sometimes and it freaks you guys out, and I know it may seem like I don't care how it affects you, but believe me, I love you psychotic bints like you don't even know."

Katie grinned, expression still a bit watery. "More than chocolate?"

"No contest."

"More than sleeping in?" Angelina chimed in, and I snorted.

"Maybe by a hair."

"More than Oliver?"

And this is why I hate Alicia Spinnet.

* * *

"…derive the equation for the speed of the incantation…"

"Gabe, pay attention."

"Rmuphg."

"…simple integral, really, of the acceleration…"

"Gabe."

"Mghrf."

"…not to be confused with the linear relation between…"

"_Harris_!"

He jolted five feet into the air, drooling form rocketing into consciousness. "_WHAT_?" All eyes flew over to the scruffy blonde, totally bewildered, and I had to smack my hand over my mouth to keep from bursting into laughter.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Harris?" Professor Vector asked, her perfectly plucked eyebrow lifting into a severe arc, and Gabe blinked a few times to orient himself. Honestly, the prat was a deeper sleeper than freaking Angelina.

"Er… no," he managed, running a hand through his messy tufts of hair and straightening out in his seat, "not a problem, per se, I was just having trouble hearing what you were saying." He shot her his most endearing grin—the lopsided one with the left dimple—though her expression only grew sharper.

"There are more appropriate ways of expressing a concern, Mr. Harris—namely, raising your hand."

"I know, I'm terribly sorry, I was just really into the lesson," he explained, pulling off the lie like the infuriatingly loveable person that he was, and Vector merely pursed her lips before continuing with her lecture. I stared at him in disbelief, more than a little bit of resent in my expression, and he merely caught my eye and winked.

"How the hell do you do that?" I hissed under my breath.

"You mean charm the uncharmable?"

"Sure."

He eased back into his seat, reaching his arms behind his head and resting them there in a smug recline. "It's genetic."

I snorted, plucking up my quill and adding a few details to my notes. "So is idiocy."

"What can you possibly be writing down?" he scoffed, straightening in his seat to peer at my notes. "She's practically speaking Chinese; there's no way you can be understanding this rubbi—"

"Mr. Harris," Vector called yet again, making him curse silently under his breath. "Since you seem particularly chatty this afternoon, why don't _you_ explain spell dynamics to the class?"

A few students snickered, though Gabe merely flashed her his trademark smile, instantly morphing into the epitome of studiousness and responsibility. "I'd love to, Professor, but you're already so spectacular at explaining it—it's intimidating, really."

I rolled my eyes, slumping my chin into my hand. What a git.

"Humor me, Mr. Harris," Vector ventured, stepping out from behind her podium and taking a few prowling steps in our direction. All the male students stirred in a mixture of excitement and jealousy as she stopped in front of Gabe, slowly leaning down so that she was eyelevel and fixing him with her sharp, brilliantly blue stare. "Do you even know what spell dynamics is?"

Gabe was a pile of goo beside me. He had a total thing for saucy blondes, and the woman leaning toward him was pretty much the definition of one. "Uh…"

She allowed him to stutter for a moment before smiling, the motion slow and satisfied. "That's what I thought." And with that, she rose to her full height, grabbing Gabe's book and giving him a swift smack upside the head with it before swiveling about and sauntering back to her podium. "Take a page from Ms. Wiles and pay attention, Mr. Harris," she called over her shoulder. "Maybe then you'll get half the marks she does."

A swell of satisfaction coursed through me as Gabe merely continued to stare, eyes glazed over, mouth curved into a dazed smile. "Yes, Professor," he replied robotically, a dreamy quality to his voice, and Vector gave him a curt nod before once again resuming her lecture. He heaved a quiet, dramatic sigh, sinking back into his seat with a lovesick air. "I'm in love."

I snorted. "Delusional is what you are."

He merely shook his head, goofy smile still in place. "I'm absolutely, completely and totally in love with her."

"Congratulations – you're male." He didn't seem to hear me, instead staring off at the newly found love of his life with an idiotic look, and I marveled at the fact that, for some reason or other, half of my friends always end up being psychotic. "Merlin, what is it with this unrequited love thing? First Alicia with that Sebastian bloke, now you with Vector—"

And suddenly Gabe snapped out of his stupor. "Wait, what?"

My brow furrowed. "Now you with—"

"Sebastian as in _Melmoth_?"

"Oh, er, I think so—blonde hair, skinny, wears frighteningly tight jeans…?"

Gabe stared at me for a moment, eyes bright and surprised, before bursting out laughing. Vector shot him a sharp look but he ignored it, too amused by this piece of information to care about his epic, life-altering love anymore. "Your friend likes _Sebastian_. Does she realize that he's gay?"

"The sad part is that she does."

"Who's this girl?"

"Alicia Spinnet," I said with an eye roll. "Unfairly gorgeous blonde, blunter than a block of wood, has a voice you can hear in bloody China when she's whispering—pretty hard to miss."

"Is she one of our Chasers?" he ventured, and I nodded—it was weird how detached Gabe was from the whole Quidditch scene. He went to the games on occasion, sure, but he was much more of swimmer; in fact, I'm pretty sure he was a pretty big deal in muggle London's swimming world. "I know who you're talking about. But why—?"

The humor was back in his tone, and I merely shook my head. "I honestly couldn't tell you. Her exact words were: 'he's just so idiosyncratic and anomalous; it's beautiful'…"

Gabe snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. "Sebastian Melmoth… that's hysterical."

"How do you know him?"

"He's a columnist for the _Wobbler_," he replied, grin still curling at his mouth, and I suddenly realized something: Gabe was the big shot chief editor of the _Weekly Wobbler_. Sebastian worked for the _Weekly Wobbler_. Alicia wanted a way to woo Sebastian into straightdom. Interesting…

"Oi, Gabe," I said conspiratorially, eyes narrowing into a scheming look. "Is there anyway you can get Alicia involved in the paper somehow?"

He snorted. "Does she have anything to offer?"

"She uses the words 'idiosyncratic and anomalous' in everyday speech," I replied flatly, giving him a pointed look. I was always testy about people who didn't know Alicia very well, because they tended to only see a pretty-faced bitch when really, the girl was brilliant. Frighteningly brilliant. IQ-through-the-roof brilliant. Tactless as a mofo, but brilliant nonetheless.

"Point taken," he conceded, arching an amused brow at my touchy expression. "Merlin, no need to get shirty, lady, I only saved your life two days ago."

I sighed begrudgingly at that one—he had a point. If he hadn't have told everyone to stop and caught me, there's no telling how aggravated the concussion could've gotten. "Yeah, fine, sorry," I said, waving an arbitrary hand. "Anyway, d'ya think you can do anything?"

"Probably—I'd have to talk to Aiden about it, but it sounds like a possibility," he replied, and I almost groaned: I'd forgotten about Aiden. AKA Gabe's Ravenclaw psycho of a co-editor. He was extremely by-the-book, surly, and not at all into doing people favors, which posed a definite problem in my plan.

"Can you just use your genetic charm on him?" I ventured hopefully, and Gabe grinned.

"Of course. Besides, Aiden calls all the organizational shots, but in the end, I have the final authority," he explained, and I couldn't help but snort—the Gabe I knew was a cheeky Arithmancy fuck-up, so the idea of him being the final authority on what had turned into quite a popular school newspaper was just funny.

"Alright, perfect," I said, and he arched a brow.

"So you actually think her mission to straighten him out's going to work?"

I scoffed. "Hell no. But I do think she'll eventually get bored of him and then I won't have to listen to 3 A.M. rants anymore."

"Ah," he replied, nodding now. "That's much more your style."

"Self-serving and cynical?"

He grinned. "Exactly."

I smiled, shaking my head as I returned my attention to Vector's lecture, and the remaining half hour or so of the class flew by relatively quickly. Maybe it was just a really interesting lecture, but before I knew it, the bell was ringing.

"Alright, everyone, paper's are due on Friday," Vector announced, raising her voice to overcome the sound of zipping backpacks and shuffling papers, "make sure to meet with Ms. Higgins for your writing consultations, and come to me with any questions you might have about the structure. See you Wednesday!"

I smiled back at her, grabbing my notebook and dropping it into my irritatingly heavy backpack—Mondays were my busiest days—and Gabe ruffled my hair in his usual goodbye. "You going to the victory party tonight?" I asked him.

The Gryffindors, in honor of the insane amount of injuries their team had suffered, had decided to push the victory party to today. I couldn't say I was looking forward to it, exactly, what with all the unresolved issues going on with the team, but I couldn't exactly bail on a party thrown partly for me.

"Dunno—I'm a bit swamped with _Wobbler_ rubbish, but I might take a quick break and stop by," he replied, shrugging. "I'll see."

"Alright," I said, giving him a brief wave. "Bye, Chief Editor!"

"Bye, Teacher's Pet!"

I shook my head, smiling as I zipped up my backpack—only in Arithmancy could I be considered anything remotely resembling a teacher's pet. Snape referred to me as the-girl-who-blows-things-up, Flitwick mixed me and Katie up on a daily basis, Sprout never got over the fact that I accidentally trampled over her Elvin lotuses in second year, and McGonagall simply doesn't know what to do with me.

Sinistra thinks I have actual brain damage.

"Horrid woman," I muttered under my breath as the room cleared out, swinging my backpack over my shoulder and swiveling about—only to come face to face with Wood. My pulse instantly spiked, heat flushing up my skin as snapshots of my dream assaulted me. _No, no, no—snap out of it_, I ordered myself, shaking my head briefly to clear away the lurid thoughts and instead giving him a rather uncertain look.

His face was inscrutable. Shocking. Well, fine—I could be inscrutable, too.

"We have our next planning session tomorrow," he informed me, tone rather expressionless. "For the banquet—McGonagall scheduled it for eight."

I groaned, forgetting my whole inscrutable approach. "The banquet… blimey, I completely forgot about that."

"Yeah, well, surprise."

I shot him a slight glare, making sure to keep it neutral. I wasn't going to be immature about this fight, but I still held that he was the one in the wrong. I understood where he was coming from and everything, but you can't get angry with a person for being who they are—who they've _been_ for the past sixteen years. That's just not fair. "Alright, well eight it is, I suppose."

"Right, see you then." And with that, he set off to leave, and I tried—I _really_ tried—to just keep my cool and let him walk off, but just as his hand reached the door, I cracked.

"Oliver, wait."

He seemed to be expecting this, for he turned around with a frustrated expression. "There's nothing to solve, Andy."

I was taken aback slightly. "What?"

"This fight," he supplied, waving his hand between us, "it's not anything that needs to be worked out—you're right. You're you and you're always going to be you and I can't justifiably get mad at you for that."

I was thrown—he was telling me exactly what I wanted to hear, but the way he was saying it, the resignation in his voice, made me almost _not_ want to be me. He was practically saying 'there's nothing we can do, we're just screwed'. And I really didn't like it. "That's not fair."

He sighed. "What's not fair?"

"The no-win scenario you're giving me here—that's not fair, Wood."

"What's there to win?"

Anger shot through me like a lightning bolt, shattering through my calm approach. That was low. "Are you _serious_?" I gritted out, taking a step toward him. He was really going to stand there and pretend he didn't know something was at stake here? Like he didn't feel anything for me, I didn't feel anything for him, and that potentially, if we both got over ourselves, something positive couldn't come out of that?

"What do you think we have to gain?"

"Fuck what I think!" I growled, and just like that, the rage took over. The feeling was violent, raw—I felt like I'd been trying to be the bigger person in our fights for the past few days, and it was getting me nowhere. He'd just say what he wanted to say and stalk off, and I'd be left there, utterly confused, feeling horrible about it. Well, enough was enough. "I'm pretty damn obvious with what I think, Wood—it's not exactly hard to figure out! In case you've forgotten, I'm not the one that walks around with this brooding look, refusing to tell anyone what the hell's the matter with me!"

"You're the one refusing to tell me right now," he replied, voice infuriatingly calm, and my eyes cut into irate slits.

"Fine," I seethed. "You want to know what I think? I'll bloody tell you. I think you're too wrapped up in yourself to realize that this could be a lot easier than you're making it. I think it's fairly obvious that there's something going on with us, but you drift in and out of being okay with it, switching your mood without any regard whatsoever with how I may feel about it!" I growled, anger building. "You're like a bloody guessing game that I can never win—one day you're hot, the next you're cold, and here I am, the stupid fucking girl who lets herself get strung along for the ride!"

He sighed, shaking his head. "Andy."

"What?" He remained silent, and I honestly wanted to pull my hair out. "Jesus, Wood, _what_!?" The silence persisted for a moment or two, thick and loaded with stilted emotions, until he finally dropped his stare to the ground, the movement one of tense concession.

"I'm not going to lie to you and say you've got it all wrong, because you don't," he muttered, eyes averted, "but at the same time, I want you to know that you really don't know the full story, either. There are things going on with me that…" he searched for the word briefly, pushing a hand through his hair, "_complicate_ this, and you're right." He finally brought his stare back to mine, dark and conflicted, "It's not fair of me to drag you into it."

I was struck by the expression. It was the same one I'd seen in the broom closet the first night he'd kissed me; the one that told me I might've hit a target a bit deeper than I'd been aiming for. It simultaneously enraged and softened me: why couldn't he just bloody _tell_ me? "Oliver," I began, my voice coming out much bolder than I felt, "who's the little girl?"

It was a demand, not a question, and he instantly stiffened. I held his stare evenly, my heart absolutely racing in my chest, praying that for once—just once—he trusted me enough to tell me, but it was in vain. He closed up instantly, the subtle vulnerability in his eyes vanishing. "No one."

"You're lying."

"I'm done with this conversation," he declared, grabbing up his book bag and swinging it onto his shoulder, and I felt a raging whirlpool of emotions swirling through me: hurt, anger, defeat.

"Is she your friend? Your sister? Your neighbor?" I pressed on, fists clenched at my sides, emotions soaring within me, though he continued to ignore me as he headed toward the door. "Do you still know her? Does she know you use her as an excuse to alienate people?" He scoffed angrily at this, pushing the door open, and I felt my frustration spiral wildly within me, eyes prickling with tears, "_Damn it_, Wood, can't you at least tell me what her name is!?"

He stopped at this, halfway through the doorway, his tensed back facing me as I merely stood there in defeat. And then, slowly, he turned to face me, his eyes dangerously dark and his voice nothing more than a cold growl. "Her name was Claire."

And with that, he was gone, the door falling shut behind him with a dull clatter. I stared at the spot where he had been standing for a solid minute or two, eyes unfocused, mind racing as it took in the single word that said more than any name or description could.

Her name was Claire.

_Was_.


	18. If Music be the Food of Love, Play On!

**Settling the Score**

If Music Be the Food of Love, Play On!

"—single hairbrush—!"

"—goddamn _lipstick_—!"

"—of you bints stole my leggings—!"

"—blue stiletto's missing—!"

Have you ever been stuck in a relatively small room with three murderous girls whilst they battle each other to the savage, bloodthirsty death in attempt to finish getting ready for the victory party they happen to already be forty-five minutes late for? No? Then let me paint this tranquil landscape of a picture for you.

Imagine a pretty blonde banshee screaming obscenities at her flatiron, her hair a curtain of pin-straight gold on one side and an explosion of psychotic curls on the other. She's wearing nothing more than the skimpiest boy-shorts you can ever imagine, a push-up bra, and one Mr. Moo-Cow slipper (the other having been flung off long ago in a bout of rage), though she's left the room numerous times to yell "give us five more fucking minutes, goddamnit!" down the stairs without even _thinking_ of donning a robe.

Beside her, clad in an unzipped pair of skinny jeans and hogging up the entirety of the full-length mirror, is a frazzled black girl with a sea of braids. She has green eyeliner on one eye, two entirely different earrings on her ears, and one of those really complicated bras that crisscross like sixty-seven times so that your backless top looks sleek and sexy. She's currently struggling with said really complicated bra, growling viciously under her breath about 'fucking boobs' and their 'sodding need' to 'bloody ruin' her 'goddamn life'.

A few feet behind her, dropped into a crouch and tunneling through her trunk like a rabid dog in search of a bone, is a frenzied brunette with long, dripping wet hair trailing down her back. She's wrapped in a fuzzy blue robe, her skin still damp from the shower she had dashed out of maybe forty seconds ago, babbling hysterically about having nothing to wear whilst hurling dress after dress over her shoulder in panicked search.

And in the center of it all, all dolled up in a tight black dress with long sleeves and a dangerously short hem, was none other than yours truly. Smoky-eyed. Pretty-haired. Glossy-lipped. Jewelry-clad. _Me_. The reason all of them were so late in the first place. You see, when I finally managed to pull myself together and leave the Arithmancy room, I was in a right state. I was confused, miserable, angry, upset—pretty much every negative emotion available to humankind, really. Naturally, when I dragged myself up to the dormitories, I wanted absolutely nothing to do with this party, I just wanted to curl up in my bed and have a slumber party with a Mr. Ben and a Mr. Jerry.

Unfortunately, Kats, Alicia, and Angelina would have none of it.

They plunked me down, gathered around my bed, and dragged the series of Wood encounters they hadn't yet heard about out of me, starting from the events of the locker room and ending at the fight we'd had earlier that day. It was rather therapeutic, to be honest, detailing everything out with the wisdom of retrospect—it helped me rationalize the actions and arguments that had been obscured by emotions at the time. Also, I got to see things through my friends' more objective lenses: this was the first moment we'd really had to breathe since the match had ended, so I hadn't really caught them up on anything till now.

In the end, they ended up getting pretty much every detail sans the Claire bit—that part struck me as intimate. Private. Something that only Wood had the right to divulge. Naturally, by the time I was done, they had plenty of divergent opinions and different things to say on the matter—particular a certain loudmouthed blonde—but in the end, they all agreed wholeheartedly on one thing: I deserved a night of fun. No stress, no overanalyzing, no arguing—just pure, laughter-filled, unencumbered _fun_.

And apparently, that involved looking like a stripper.

Okay, so that's a bit of an exaggeration, but honestly, I don't think I've ever worn anything this tight before. It's an incredibly sexy dress, don't get me wrong, and the solid black color has the whole understated thing I love going on, but it's a 3,000% Alicia dress—i.e. ridiculously short and ridiculously tight. Mine are usually one or the other, though according to Kats, 'this one's got long-sleeves, so it cancels out!'…

I'm not really buying that logic.

Still, their excitement was contagious, and my legs really were one of the only things I had worth showing off, so I decided to be frivolous and throw caution to the wind—why the hell not? It wasn't like I had anything to lose: perhaps Alicia was right; perhaps looking good would somehow make me start feeling good. At this point, it was worth a sodding try.

Thus, two solid hours were spent on nothing more than making me a Barbie—taming my scraggly bird's nest hair into soft curls, bronzing my pale, English legs, plucking my brows into smooth arches, painting my nails a pale pink… it was honestly ridiculous. Granted, we were all laughing hysterically throughout the process and it cheered me up astronomically for a while, but now I was feeling a bit stupid.

I mean, honestly, who was I trying to kid? Pretending to be Alicia for a night wasn't going to make me feel any better—I should really just stay home and eat my damn Half-Baked in peace. I started fidgeting with the hem of my dress uncomfortably, looking rather dejected, and Angelina caught my eye in the reflection of the mirror.

"Stop thinking about ice cream, you cow—you're going out and you're going to like it," she snapped, carefully lining her bare eye in jade green eyeliner. "I didn't do your eye-makeup for bloody nothing."

Alicia scoffed angrily. "Sod eye-makeup—I didn't do her bloody _hair_ for nothing! Blasted haystack took forever," she growled, dragging yet another loose curl through the clamp of her straightener. "Her eyes are at least pretty to begin with!"

"Oi, they took a while!" Angelina snapped back, indignant, just as Katie let out a ragged cry of anguish.

"I have absolutely, positively, completely and thoroughly _nothing_ to wear!"

"Then just borrow something!"

"I don't know what to borrow!"

"Well, what do you feel like wearing?"

"I don't know!"

Angelina scoffed, raking mascara onto her lashes. "Helpful, Kats."

"This is a disaster! I'm just not going to go," the brunette declared dramatically, and I instantly perked up.

"Great, so I guess that means I can—"

All three of them whipped around to glare fiercely at me, gazes slitted and mouths tight.

"…stand here some more," I finished a bit lamely.

"You could help Katie find something to wear—just a crazy thought," Alicia jabbed rather testily, and I sent her a brief glare.

"Fine," I replied, shifting my attention to Katie's rifling form. "Kats, what are you looking for?"

"I dunno, just something pretty!"

"Like a dress, or—"

"It doesn't matter, it all looks terrible on me!"

We all groaned—Kats had serious image issues when it came to dressing up. For day-to-day stuff, she was fine, but when it came to actually putting effort into her appearance, she had a cataclysmic _meltdown_—she'd just put something on, look perfectly pretty in it, and cast it off miserably without any explanation. "What's wrong with the high-waisted skirt you were trying on earlier?" Angelina asked, and Katie shook her head in frustration.

"As if my _waist_ is what I want to accentuate."

"You have a perfectly nice waist!"

"Shove it, Ally," she growled at Alicia, who, to be fair, had the tiniest bloody waist ever.

"Well, what the hell do you want to emphasize then?"

"Nothing, I'm a troll!"

Alicia scoffed. "Yeah, a troll with a phenomenal rack and Pantene commercial hair."

"Look," I intervened, marching over to Angelina's trunk since their 'phenomenal racks' put them closest in size, "just dry your hair and do your make-up—I'll find you something." Katie made to protest but I threw a hairbrush at her, promptly silencing her.

With a heavy sigh, I dropped down to my knees, the hem of my shirt-oops-I-mean-dress hiking up to just below the curve of my bum—mental note: do not lean over at any point tonight. I rifled through Angelina's neatly organized trunk for a solid five minutes, transforming it into a toxic wasteland of colorful clothing, before finally yanking out a flowy, low-cut white top in victory. "I got it!"

Katie glanced up dejectedly, hair now dry and back to being the shiny mass of thick, stick-straight honey brown that it always was, and sighed. "Paired with what?"

"Your black skirt," Angelina decided, staring at the shirt with a calculating air.

"For Merlin's sake, I don't want to wear the damn—!"

"Just shut up and try it on, Katie," I snapped, shoving the gossamer top at her with a scowl, and she grudgingly pulled it over her head. I cocked my head to the side as she reached for the skirt, noting the way the fabric billowed prettily off her shoulders and showed off the perfect amount of cleavage—it really did look nice on her. She slid the skirt up her legs, expression dark and pessimistic.

The second she zipped it up, however, the band wrapping tightly around her waist and cinching the flowing fabric beneath it, I grinned. She looked hot—and it was in that black and white, Audrey Hepburn, simple-yet-classic way that Katie absolutely adored. "Red lipstick and heels and you're good to go," I announced with a wry look.

"Seriously, Kats—you look brill," Angelina added, assessing her from the mirror's reflection.

"Why don't you move so she can see for herself?" Alicia snapped, irritated with Angelina's mirror-hog tendencies, and Angelina merely stuck her tongue out before stepping aside for Katie.

"It's… pretty nice, I guess," Katie began hesitantly, turning from side to side and taking in the outfit from different angles before turning to face us. Her look was uncertain. "Right? I mean, maybe not, I just…"

The rest of us knew it was our cue to shower her in compliments.

"It looks phenomenal!"

"Blokes won't be able to control themselves, love."

"Seriously, you're going to be a hazard—"

"Beat them away with a stick—"

"Stop sodding traffic—"

"Go into heart palpitations—"

"Okay, okay, shut up," Katie cut in, laughing, "the bullshit quota has successfully been met—I'll wear it."

"Nice job, Andy," Angelina grinned, yanking the flirty yellow top she'd set out earlier off a hanger and resuming her place in front of the mirror. "How we doing on time?"

I glanced at my alarm clock, wincing. "Er… somewhere between fantastically late and never going to make it?"

Alicia rolled her eyes. "Which means?"

"11:05."

"Shit," Angelina swore, ever the punctual one, whereas Alicia seemed pleasantly surprised.

"Perfect—an hour makes them antsy."

I snorted. "Who exactly is 'them'?"

She slowly turned to look at me, halfway through yanking on a little blue dress that made her eyes look like crystals, and smirked. "Why, the gaggle of unsuspecting blokes that are going to be positively drooling after you the whole night, of course. Please flirt with at least six of them—really, Andy, it'll be so much fun."

I heaved a gusty sigh, collapsing back against Angelina's trunk with a defeated air. This was going to be a _long_ night.

* * *

I had to give my House credit—they sure knew how to throw a party.

The Astronomy Tower had been completely transformed. Scarlet and gold streamers hung from the high, vaulted ceilings, spiraling down toward the boisterous crowd singing and dancing below; Gryffindor banners ran along the railings of the spiral staircase that led up to the second level of the tower, where smaller gaggles of people were lounging about, drinks in hand, chatting animatedly; and a bonfire spitting out red and gold sparks was roaring on the Observatory balcony.

On the first floor, apart from the ringing of laughter and the occasional girlish shriek, nothing could really be heard over the music—a pounding combination of beats, guitar, and percussion soared over the dancing crowd, filtering into the night through the open windows and wide, stone archways of the balconies. How we weren't keeping up the entirety of the castle, I honestly had no idea, but I suspected a powerful assortment of silencing charms had something to do with it.

Off on one of the many balconies, a heated game of Wizarding Strip was underway, consisting of a gaggle of half-naked Gryffindor males gathered about a small table with cards in hand and fiercely competitive poker faces on. Among them were Zach Davies and George Weasley, the former clad in nothing but polka-dotted boxers and tube socks and the latter in no more than a pair of trousers and a Bludger-covered tie. They looked hilariously serious about something so completely ridiculous.

On the neighboring balcony, a makeshift Tiki bar was set up, serving everything from Orange Juice to Goblin Rum Mojitos to Firewhiskey, and on yet another balcony, an assortment of lounge chairs and floor cushions were sprawled under the stars, begging to be used for all sorts of illicit activities. People were spread out amongst all of the different levels of the tower, rowdy and spirited and having an absolute wild time, and I had to admit, the celebratory mood was infectious.

"Gryffindor! Gryffindor! Gryffindor!" I grinned as the go-to cheer of the night once again broke out amongst the gyrating crowd, glancing over at the dance floor from my spot by the bonfire.

Kats and Angelina were caught up in that whole mess, jumping and squealing and dancing their sodding faces off, and I shook my head at their wild movements: it's amazing what a few shots of Patron could do to people. Off to my left, Alicia was draped along one of the floor cushions, very much sober and deep in discussion with Poof-boy, whose hazy, half-lidded expression spoke volumes about his mental state. Fred and Lee were at the Tiki bar, caught in the midst of a vicious Butterbeer chugging contest that looked like it wasn't letting up any time soon, and Fiona was watching them with a delightfully disgusted look, snooty brow raised.

Now, I know what you're thinking. Better yet, I know what you're thinking I'm thinking, and I just want to make it clear that that's _not_ what I'm thinking.

For the most part.

…

Fine, so I was wondering where the hell Wood was. But I mean, really, every single other member of the team was accounted for—even Martin the sodding Towel Boy was leading a conga line in the corner. We'd arrived about an hour ago, and at the time, I was relieved by Wood's absence. I wanted to let loose and have fun, which was nearly impossible to do whenever him and his stupid, brooding stare were around.

Now, however, I was a bit narked. Granted, I was angry to begin with after what had happened in the Arithmancy room, but the fact that he wasn't here now was just stupid—this was a party thrown in honor of the Quidditch team, and he was the sodding _captain_. If he really thought avoiding me to this extreme was the best way to go about our stupid situation, then he wasn't anywhere near as mature as he thought he was.

"…really, _really_ brilliant dive, until that sod had to go an knock you off your broom. I would've caught you in a heartbeat, love. Couldn't let such a fit bird get injured—I like my women healthy…"

I glanced over at the younger-looking, freckled boy now standing beside me, wondering where the hell he came from, until his words registered in my head. My brows shot up; was he _hitting_ on me? "_What_?"

He grinned, blue eyes sparkling as he shifted toward me, dark, ruffled head barely reaching my shoulder. "Oh, c'mon, doll. You can't deny this mojo we've got going here. Look at you, you're swooning."

I choked on my laughter—was he serious? "Kid, how old are you?"

"Thirteen," he said, though he promptly leaned forward with a conspiratorial expression and waggled his eyebrows, "but I'll be fourteen in two months."

I snorted. "Well, in that case."

He arched a cocky brow, expression growing sly as he leaned back against the railing. "Poke fun all you want, doll, but know that one day, when you're old and ugly and wear orthopedic shoes, you're going to dream about getting attention from a spry, dashingly handsome fourteen-year-old like myself."

"Thirteen-year-old," I corrected.

"Two months," he snapped a bit defensively, and I smiled. This kid was ridiculous.

"What's your name, Casanova?"

"Jefferson, but the fairer sex usually calls me 'baby daddy'," he replied.

I spat out the sip of my drink I'd just taken, spraying the contents into the fire—_baby daddy_? I lapsed into a fit of laughter, shoulders shaking uncontrollably. He'd said it so seriously, like it was the most casual thing in the world, and now he was looking at me like _I _was crazy.

"You alright, doll?"

"You're a seriously messed up kid," I managed to get out, still laughing quite loudly, and Jefferson merely grinned.

"Thanks!"

"No problem," I chuckled.

"You know, I think you're pretty messed up, too," he said after a beat, his expression growing suggestive again as he lowered his voice, "so what do you say we ditch this scene, head back to my place, and go be messed up together?"

I widened my eyes in fake excitement. "_Ooo_, you mean the third year dormitories? Let me go get my coat!"

"Alright, alright, I get it, the hard-to-get approach," he conceded, lifting his hands with a stupid smirk. "I'm cool with that, doll—I'm nothing if not persistent."

"Really? Because I can think of a few other adjectives you're 'nothing if not'."

"Charming, suave, and sexually irresistible are implied."

I snorted yet again. "Silly me."

"Sexy you."

"_God_, you're creepy," I laughed, incredulous—this kid was like a cartoon character.

"I can be anything you want me to be, doll."

"How about gone?"

"Ooo, feisty."

I shuddered at the creepiness, eyes bright with humor, but the flushed, pretty face of Katie Bell came barreling at me before I could respond. "Andy, you've got to come dance with us," she gushed, pushing a hand through her disheveled hair as she reached for my arm. "Angelina just put on disco!"

"Aw, Kats, not the bloody disc—"

My whine was interrupted by a low, drawn-out, suggestion-ridden whistle. "And who, pray tell, is this exquisite creature?"

We both glanced over at Jefferson, whose entire demeanor shifted as he took in the sight of Katie. I groaned: his expression was positively _Cheshire_. "Uh…" Katie reared back slightly, tossing me a questioning look, and I sighed.

"Katie, this is Jefferson."

"Er, hi, Jefferson."

"Hi, Wild Kat."

Katie looked baffled, and Jefferson merely winked. She turned to look at me. "You know, your new friend's kind of creepy."

"Oh, we're not friends."

"We're lovers," he went on to explain. I rolled my eyes, mouth parting to protest, but he pressed on before I could, "Although, now that I've met the goddess that is you, I'm starting to rethink that decision."

"Great! I'll just leave you two, then…" Katie grabbed my arm before I could escape, giving me a 'don't-you-dare' look, and I sighed miserably. "What?"

"You're not leaving me here with him!" she hissed.

"Then leave _with_ me."

"I can't—that's rude!" she replied, and I almost laughed at the earnest expression on her face—she was actually afraid of offending someone who referred to himself as 'baby daddy'.

"Jefferson," I said pointedly, gaze snapping over to his dancing eyes, "we're leaving. It was a pleasure meeting you—well, not really… but anyway, have fun at the party." With that, I turned to go, but I realized Katie was stalling beside me, looking uncertain. I internally groaned—she was so bloody _nice_.

Jefferson seemed to notice this, for he was watching her closely, taking note of the hesitation in her gaze. And then, just as she turned to follow me, the cheeky git struck—he pulled the saddest, most vulnerable face in the sodding universe and stared up at her. "Please don't go." It was a trembling whisper.

_Oh, please,_ I thought, but sure enough, Katie had turned back around, expression torn. "Well… it's just that our friends are waiting for us…" her hesitant tone trailed off as he cast his dramatic gaze down, the very picture of dejection, and her stare snapped over to mine, desperate.

I snorted. "Do what you want, I'm leaving."

Her eyes widened, but I swiveled about anyway, making my way over to Alicia. She turned her attention back to the cheeky git as I walked away, venturing back into uncertain conversation, and the last thing I heard was:

"So, what's your favorite color?"

"Sex."

"_What_?"

I chuckled darkly, shaking my head. Serves her right for being such a Hufflepuff. "Oi, Spinnet!" I called, making the blonde's head snap up from beside the fire. She looked annoyed at the interruption, and I promptly realized it was because she was still in the midst of a deep, life-altering discussion with Sebastian.

"What?" she snapped.

I held my hands up in defense, stifling a laugh. "Just saying hi."

"Hi," she replied, sharp and irritated, before dropping her gaze back to the skinny-jean clad male sprawled across from her, expression intense. "Continue with what you were saying."

"What were we talking about?" he drawled, voice hazy and slow, and I almost snorted: that was a stoned voice if I'd ever heard one.

"The ritualistic ills of corporate, modern society."

He tossed his head back and laughed, the movement languid and arrogant. "Where do I even _begin_ with that one?"

I rolled my eyes, wondering what the hell Alicia saw in these kinds of blokes, when suddenly, a loud, boisterous cheer sounded from the dance floor inside. I glanced over briefly, expecting someone to be dancing on a table or something, when a familiar flicker of blonde caught my attention. I leaned forward, straining to get a better look at the party's newest arrival, and sure enough, Gabe's lopsided grin came into focus.

I instantly grinned—perfect! "Hey, Alicia, I hate to pull you away from such a fascinating conversation, but I actually have someone I need you to meet."

She gave me a positively withering glare, motioning to Sebastian with her head in way that said, 'hello, this is the love of my life, here!', but I simply ignored it, smiling pleasantly. "I'm a bit busy right now, Andy."

"Not for this, you're not."

Her glare darkened into a scowl. "Yes, actually, I _am_."

"C'mon, it'll take three seconds."

"I—"

"It's fine, love," Sebastian drawled with a shrug, though given his present state, I was rather certain anything would be 'fine'.

Alicia smiled briefly at him before snapping her gaze back over to me, edgy and pissed. "And who is it that I have to meet _right now_?"

"Gabe."

Her face flickered slightly with realization—I'd already told her my plan to get her on the _Wobbler_ staff. "_Gabe_, Gabe? The Gabe that—"

"Correct."

"You mean Gabe Harris?" Sebastian asked, leaning back onto his elbows in a catlike motion.

"Yeah," I said, arching a brow, and he let his head loll back in desire.

"That boy is _such_ a _slice_."

I smacked my lips together as hard as I could, fighting the burst of laughter bubbling up my throat. Sebastian… thought Gabe… my shoulders started shaking. "R-really?" I managed, avoiding Alicia's eyes at all costs.

"Oh, completely," Sebastian said, voice tinged with a dramatic purr. "He's number three on my list of top twenty straight blokes I'd get a sex-change for." I almost lost it at this point. "I mean, _honestly_, have you _seen_ him doing laps in the lake? That torso…" He shuddered lustfully, eyes fluttering closed, and I couldn't help but sneak a peak at Alicia.

At which point I _did_ lose it.

Steam was practically curling from her nostrils, her eyes reduced to fiery slits of blue. Her shoulders were rigid as stone as she stared at Sebastian, teeth gritting together in jealous fury, fingers digging into the thick velvet of the cushion below her. Tears threatened to spill from my eyes as I convulsed with laughter, making a quick grab for Alicia's wrist and hurling her up before she could protest. "C-c'mon!"

I staggered forward into the crowd, probably looking totally hammered despite the complete lack of alcohol in my system as I dragged her behind me. "Seriously—_gasp_—too—_gasp_—perfect!" I heaved, struggling not to fall over; I nearly crashed into six people, but I couldn't even manage a sorry. "Look on your—_gasp_—face!" I fell into a fresh peal of giggles, positively drunk with laughter, while Alicia scowled.

"It's really not that funny," she jabbed, yanking me to an angry halt as we neared the dance floor. "He's gay; obviously he likes blokes."

"Yeah, but _this particular_—"

"Whatever," she snapped, crossing her arms with a glower. "It doesn't matter—let's just meet this kid." I laughed in her face for a few more minutes, making all sorts of obnoxious comments about karma and 'this-is-what-happens-when-you-go-through-life-as-an-inconsiderate-bint', before finally settling down a bit.

"Alright, I'm done, I swear," I conceded, grinning cheekily as I raised my palms. She looked thoroughly unamused, eyes slitted with a mixture of irritation and impatience, and I rolled my eyes. "Seriously, the joke's over."

"Fine."

The response was predictably snippy, and I sighed. "Can someone please get this girl a drink?" I yelled over the crowd, gesturing at Alicia, and sure enough, a lovesick fifth-year jumped at the chance, racing over to the Tiki bar like his life depended on it.

"Wha—_no_! Oi, kid, stop!" Alicia called, turning around and yelling after the boy, and I took the opportunity to scan the room for Gabe. The crowd was sprawling and tightly packed, so it took me a few seconds before… _bingo_.

"Harris!" I called, spotting the tousled, dark blonde head amidst the swirl of people by the Strip Poker balcony. He glanced over, spotting me and shooting a crooked grin, and I waved him over impatiently. "I need you to meet someone!"

He broke off the conversation he was having with a pretty Ravenclaw, causing her to pout cutely at him and whisper something in his ear, and I merely rolled my eyes—typical. "If it isn't my little ray of optimism and sunshine," he greeted as he made his way over, pulling me into a bear hug before I could protest and ruffling my hair.

"Oi—_whoa_! I spent half an hour getting her hair to look human; paws off, buddy!"

My eyes closed at the snap of a voice, groan working its way out of my throat. "Gabe," I said, voice muffled by his collar, "meet the girl you're doing a favor for."

He pulled away slightly, keeping an arm draped over my shoulders as his curious green stare landed on Alicia. I glanced over, snorting at the sight of her: she was in her pissed off stance, hands thrown against her hips and lips pursed, and I couldn't help but marvel at how aggressive she could look in such a pretty blue dress.

"You're Gabe?" she demanded, arching a judgmental brow.

His mouth curled cheekily. "Only on Tuesdays."

"So I guess that leaves Hair-Destroyer for Mondays," she snapped coolly, and I almost groaned.

"True—but I'm Helps-Delusional-Girl-Stalk-Gay-Bloke on Wednesdays, so get excited."

Her eyes widened in outrage, and I couldn't help but laugh. "Why do you people in_sist_ on painting me out as some creepy stalker?" she cried.

"Oh, I don't know—maybe because you creepily stalk people?"

She scowled at me. "Your hair looks ugly now."

"Irrelevant."

"But true."

"So is the fact that you're a stalker."

"_Iamnotastalker_!"

"Alright, regardless of what may or may not be your stalker-like tendencies," Gabe began, shooting Alicia a placating look as she predictably ruffled, "I said may or may not be, love, calm down." She did nothing of the sort, pretty blue eyes tapering into slits, and Gabe continued with his thought, "You want to work for the _Wobbler_."

She scoffed. "Sure."

"Sure?" he asked, arching a brow, and I couldn't help but groan internally—Alicia always did this when she felt attacked or on the defensive. Her movements grew tense, her answers flippant, and everything about her got snippy.

"Yes, sure—awesome, brilliant, great," she listed testily, waving an errant hand. "Insert superlative here."

"Alicia," I interjected, voice falsely pleasant. "I don't know if this has slipped your oftentimes questionable mind, but Gabe's doing you a favor." She stared at me uncomprehendingly, and I rolled my eyes. "Translation: stop being a bitch."

"I'm _not_—" Gabe's laughter sliced through her snipe of a response, irritating her immensely. "_What_?"

He shrugged. "For someone so blunt and 'tell-it-like-it-is', you're in denial quite a bit," he replied, and she scowled in response, parting her mouth to speak. "Let me guess—'no, I'm not'," he ventured, raising a cheeky brow.

Her mouth snapped shut, lips pressing together in a flustered purse, and my brows slowly inched upward. Well, _damn_. The only other bloke I'd ever seen shut Alicia up was George, and that was because he had a mean _Silencio_ charm. The tense silence persisted for a few moments, her glare steadily fixed on his cheeky stare, before I cleared my throat.

"Alright, well, I'm going to let you two talks things out…"

"That would require actual talking," Gabe said, raffish stare trained on Alicia.

She gave him a surly look, lip curled in distaste. "Why on earth would anyone ever get a sex-change for you?"

His face crumpled in confusion, and I took that as my cue to leave. A few, trailing snippets of the their bickering carried over to my ears as I walked off, loaded with a crackling mixture of curiosity and animosity, and I couldn't help but shake my head—I really think I might've just opened up a Pandora's box with those two. Gabe could get along with pretty much anybody, but Alicia—_'shame, what's that?'_—Spinnet was no anybody.

"ANDY!" someone called, boisterous and loud, and I glanced over to see none other than a half-dressed Zach Davies staggering toward me, George Weasley in tow. "Th' woman o' the decade! Everybody give it up for th' bezzt Seeker in Hogwarts hist'ry!" he roared through cupped hands, causing the chaotic crowd to erupt into cheers, and I laughed.

"Davies, you're drunk."

He grinned stupidly. "You're c'rrect."

"I take it you lost?" I observed, referencing the poker game and the fact that he was only wearing his boxers, a beanie, and a bright red sock.

"False!" he cried, thrusting a dramatic arm over to the balcony and nearly falling over in the process. "Lies, Andy! M'm telling you, it was a conspir…rimacy…" he stumbled for a moment, expression dropping, before glaring back up at me with restored ferocity. "Lousy gits cheated th' whole game!"

"Sore loser, this one," George chimed in, slinging an arm around the impassioned blonde's shoulders and tossing me a grin. "Having fun, love?"

"I really am," I said, smile earnest—despite my initial misgivings, I was actually really happy I'd decided to come. It was a brilliant way to get my mind off things, and while Wood's continued absence admittedly bothered me, it was refreshing in a way as well. I'd pretty much given up on the idea of him coming, so I wasn't going to bother with him tonight; this was a night for just _me_. No drama. No conflict. No butterflies. No maybes.

Just fun.

"I know 'vrybody's probably been tellin' you this, but you look great, Andy," Zach drawled, a hilarious slur in his speech. "Like _hot_ great. Like _damn-whoz-tha'-leggy-bird-in-the-black-dress_ great. Like—"

"I get it," I interjected quickly, feeling a slight flush rising onto my cheeks. I never did take compliments all that well. I simply didn't know what to do with them. "But, er, thank you."

"No," Zach slurred, leaning over in a dramatic gesture and holding my gaze suggestively, "thank _you_."

George yanked him back by the scruff of his neck, rolling his eyes and sending me a pointed look. "Do me a favor, yeah? Next time you decide to wear that dress, let me know ahead of time so I can bring my Beater's bat."

I snorted, defaulting to derision in my state of discomfort, though before I could properly respond, a sudden, deafening roar erupted over the crowd. I jolted in shock at the sound—it was by far the loudest of the night, wild and frenzied and full of hysteria, and I glanced over my shoulder in irritation. What on earth could be so bloody excit—

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN," Lee shouted from the entrance, grinning like a madman, "THE CAPTAIN HAS _ARRIVED_!"

My heart suddenly skipped about three beats. He'd shown up.

Everybody started swarming the tower entrance, rushing over to greet the long-awaited missing member of the Quidditch team, and I found that I simply couldn't move. I honestly didn't know why. The reaction was violent and sharp, almost suffocating, and I realized after a moment that it was anxiety. Pure, unbridled anxiety. Butterflies started fluttering about my stomach, nervous and tense, and as stupid as they were, I couldn't shake them off.

I'd made up my mind that I wasn't going to see Wood tonight, and now that he was here, I felt… heightened. Awake. Like someone had just hit the 'on' switch inside of me. Three seconds ago, I'd been having fun, sure, but it was an easygoing, lukewarm kind of fun where everything was lighthearted and nothing was unpleasant. I'd almost been a bit… numb.

Now, with that one, simple announcement, I was electrified.

"…he's a jolly good fellow, for he's a jolly good fell-_ooooow_!" everyone was singing, voices horribly off-key, and I forced myself to look up at the source of it all, "that nobody can deny!"

I stiffened. Hauled onto the shoulders of Lee and Fred, shirt unbuttoned and Gryffindor tie askew, was none other than the man of the hour himself, Oliver Wood. His head was tossed back in reckless laughter, hair a ruffled mess of dark brown, eyes bright and warm as he egged along the crowd… and I honestly couldn't do anything but blink. This was, quite simply, due to one minor detail.

He was completely, totally, and irrefutably _drunk_.


	19. Now Is the Winter of Our Discontent

**Settling the Score**

Now Is the Winter of Our Discontent

This was ridiculous.

Even in his hammered state, Wood was avoiding me. It was obvious as hell. His eyes never once grazed mine. His location of choice was always at violent odds with mine. He was keeping to the friends he knew I didn't know very well. And, to be frank, it was pissing me the _fuck_ off.

You see, I really don't like to leave things hanging. I like to talk them out, scream the out, cry them out—whatever, as long as the word _out_ is involved. Wood, however, is this infuriating breed of bloke known as passive-aggressive. He bottles things in, keeps them locked inside his dark, inscrutable stare, and broods over them until he's made enough sense of them to push them to the back of his head. There's no outside party involved—just him and his stupid brain.

You may be wondering how this is in any way healthy. The short answer? It's not.

Which is why I find myself in a frosty, prickly mood that's so polarized from the easygoing one I was in before. I'm supposed to be listening to Lee's Egypt story—something about turning the camels pink over his summer break—but really, I'm not paying a word of attention. In fact, I'm trying not to stare over his shoulder at the darling little scene unfurling before me: Fiona Price tossing her head back and giggling at whatever inane thing Wood was spewing, pressing a hand against his chest.

My grip on my glass of Butterbeer was tight. _Don't look, Andy, _I snapped at myself, trying to keep my gaze on Lee's animated one. _Do. Not. Look._

I looked. Irritation swept through me—she was ruffling his hair, trying to straighten it out from the haphazard mess it'd become. I was struck again by how awful they looked together: her with her pale, porcelain everything and him with his tanned, roughened-up everything. She needed an effeminate bloke, like a male model or something. Her and Wood were just… _wrong._

This was an entirely objective opinion, of course.

I scowled at myself, snapping my attention back over to Lee. Whatever. If he could have fun and flirt about, so could I. "And then the villagers treated us like we were all out _gods_, because apparently, and this is _golden_, they have a prophecy about pink camels that—" Lee cut off as I started giggling out of nowhere, acting as if he'd just said the funniest thing in the entire world. I know, it was stupid and immature, but really, I didn't know what else to do.

"I haven't even hit the punch-line yet," he said with a frown, expression a bit perplexed, and I had to fight back a glower—he wasn't making this easy.

"You're just funny, Lee," I improvised. Granted, it was usually true, but I really wasn't feeling his camel story at the moment.

He grinned at this, shrugging his shoulders cockily. "I guess I am."

"And, er," I racked my head for something flirty, "spry."

_What?_

"What?" he echoed my thoughts, face crumpling a bit.

"You know, spry, like…" my gaze veered off his shoulder to where Fiona had just 'accidentally' stumbled into Wood, his hands moving to her tiny little waist to steady her, and it slitted. "What I meant was sexy."

I snapped my stare back over to Lee's, bright with renewed vigor, and he balked. "Sorry?"

"You're sexy, Lee—there's just something about the way you…" I paused, desperately racking my head for some of his more attractive qualities, but all I could see was an image of him scarfing down his eggs at breakfast, shoveling food into his overflowing mouth like there was no tomorrow. "…er, well, there's just something about you," I finished a bit hastily.

"Thanks, I guess," he said, eyeing me uncertainly, and I honestly wanted to smack myself: I couldn't flirt for the life of me. Like really, it was a problem. Merlin, what do girls normally do in this situation? Flip their hair? "So, anyway, we rode the camels into the village and they sa—"

_WHACK_.

"_Ow_!"

I winced—note to self: when flipping hair, avoid face of conquest. "Sorry!"

"The _hell_, Andy?" Lee growled, rubbing the side of his cheek, and I racked my brain for what to do. I'd just injured him, so maybe I should do something about it? Help him out? My eyes flashed with revelation: fawn! I could fawn over him! Like all those nurturing girlfriends do in the romance movies when their love interest gets hurt!

"Oh, _Lee_," I fretted somewhat awkwardly, bringing my hand up to his cheek and, for lack of a better option, patting it. "Are you alright… darling?" My eyes strayed over his shoulder yet again, spotting Wood's hands still resting on Fiona's waist, and my patting might've gotten a wee bit vicious.

"Ow, ow, _ow_!" Lee cried, ducking back out of my reach and staring at me like I was completely mental. "Why the hell are you _slapping_ me?"

"I'm not slapping you!"

"_Really_? Then what exactly are you doing!?"

"Fawning!" I snapped.

"Then bloody well stop fawning!"

I let out a sigh of frustration, tossing all subtlety to hell as I grabbed his collar, yanked his head down to my eye-level, and scowled. "Look—I need you to pretend for a second that I'm not me, alright? That I'm someone else, someone like…" my eyes flickered in revelation, "Katie!"

His eyes widened. "Katie?"

"Yeah, Katie! Pretend I'm Katie!"

"But—"

"Now, if I were Katie—pretty, doe-eyed, curvy little Katie, remember?—how would you be acting right now?" I pressed on, expression intense, and for a second, he merely stared at me.

And stared at me.

And stared at me some more.

Then, slowly, he began leaning over, expression entirely inscrutable. I almost cheered—_finally_, he was looking at me like I was a girl!—until he was inches away from my face, eyes dark and narrowed. And then, "Are you _high_?"

I simply threw my hands up into the air, emitting a loud growl of frustration. "I give up!" I wheeled around and stalked off, leaving a very confused-looking Lee behind me, but I didn't care—I needed a bloody drink.

I wove my way through the continually thickening crowd, maneuvering through groping couples and clusters of chatty friends until I finally emerged onto the crowded Tiki Bar balcony. I scowled at the line—people were such _drunks_, honestly—until a cheery, accented voice called out, "Make way for our star Seeker, ladies and gents!"

I glanced over and saw the vaguely familiar bartender, Seamus Finnegan, waving me over. My face crumpled in bemusement—wasn't he in like third year? Who the hell decided to let him bartend? Nonetheless, the line parted with a series of cheers and high-fives as I made my way up to the front, arching a brow. "Aren't you a bit young to be handling alcohol, Seamus?"

He shot me a toothy grin. "I'm Irish, love. Been makin' me own drinks since I was seven."

I snorted at this. "Touché."

"So what'll it be, then?"

"I don't care—surprise me."

He raised his eyebrows. "Y'sure about that?" I tossed him a pointed look, and he grinned again before ducking down behind the counter and fiddling with a few glass handles. He emerged with a bottle of something clear and vicious-looking. "Vodka it is!"

I watched him work with a mildly impressed expression—he wasn't kidding about knowing what he was doing. His hands darted out to grab different liquors and mixers with second-nature ease, pouring them thoughtlessly as he jammed out to the song blasting from the dance floor, and within seconds, a bright red drink was being pushed my way.

"What is it?" I asked, eyeing the virulent color a bit apprehensively.

"I call it the Hungarian Horntail," he replied with a wink, plucking a festive little umbrella out of an arbitrary box and sticking it into the ice. "Drink it _slowly_." At my questioning look, he leaned forward, voice dropping conspiratorially, "There's enough alcohol in that thing to knock bloody Hagrid on his arse."

My gaze flitted back over to the drink, fingers curling hesitantly around the glass as I brought it up in front of my eyes. It looked like bright, red-hot, liquid pandemonium. "Alright, well… cheers, I s'pose," I ventured, lifting the glass up in a tentative toast.

Seamus grinned, flicking two fingers in cheeky salute before turning his attention to the next person in line. I cast a final wary look at my drink before merely snorting and swiveling about, coming face-to-face with none other than Zachary Davies. I burst out laughing—he looked like a homeless man. "The last thing you need is more alcohol, Davies."

"The _only_ thing I need is more alcohol!" he cried, expression dramatic and full of humor. His hair was an entirely disheveled mess of bright blonde, his tan cheeks flushed and his eyes a bit bleary, but, to his credit, he did seem a bit more sobered up than before. Granted, I had no idea how—he'd probably had his weight in alcohol by this point—but I s'pose being Hogwarts' biggest party animal had worked him up quite a tolerance over the years.

"How on earth are you not passed out in the Hospital Wing right now?" I asked, shaking my head in awe, and he merely winked in response. "Ridiculous," I muttered.

"Completely," he agreed, lips curling at the corners. He perked up suddenly, "Oi, I should buy you a celebratory drink!"

I laughed. "It's an open bar, you git."

He rolled his eyes, "Fine, correction: I should _get _you a celebratory drink. Wait just a second!"

"No, it's fine, I already have one!" I called behind him as he made his way to the bar, all cockiness and humor and swagger without so much as a pinch of seriousness to his name. "It's completely full!"

"Petty details…"

"No, Zach, really—"

"Shots, then?"

"_No_!"

"I'm thinking shots…"

"I'm thinking _no_!"

"But we all know that no means yes!"

I laughed as he shot an elfin grin over his shoulder, wriggling his eyebrows and ordering a round of tequila shots. "Spoken like a true rapist," I said wryly as he returned with two shot glasses in hand, holding one out to me. "Zach, really, I can't just—"

"I propose a toast," he announced, forcing the glass into my hand and making a giant fuss out of crossing our arms so that we could take them wedding-style, "to the most spectacular, kickass, brilliant, and bloody mental Quidditch team Hogwarts' ever seen." A few people gathered around to cheer him on, pulled in by the rowdy, magnetic appeal Zach Davies had about him, and I shot them an exasperated look. "May their talent meet no bounds, their legacy live on, and their fit Seeker shag me tonight. Cheers!"

A burst of applause and laughter rang out as he downed his shot, eyeing me with dark, glittering brown eyes. I couldn't help but laugh—from his laidback, California boy good looks to his hilariously dismal grades, Zachary Davies was nothing more than a party waiting to happen. "Oh, c'mon, love—we're celebrating!"

I sighed, defeated, "Fine, fine!" And with that, I tossed my head back and took the damn thing, eyes instantly screwing up in disgust as the amber liquid burned down my throat. Merlin, I hated tequila. It tasted like kerosene, it scorched my taste buds, and it had a nasty habit of hitting me all at once at the most inopportune moments. I could be fine for an entire hour and then all of a sudden, _BAM_—I'm screeching out Britney Spears songs and chasing Mrs. Norris down the hallway with a box of matches. I honestly have absolutely zero tolerance for the stuff, which is why I find myself glaring at Zach's now stupidly grinning face. "I hate you for that."

"You'll get over it," he replied, snatching a newly poured drink from the hand of a passing fourth year and taking a swig. "_Mmm_, gin…"

"Oi!" the boy cried, wheeling around and swiping his arm to try and get it back.

Zach held the red cup out of his reach, furrowing his brow into a serious expression. "You're far too young to be drinking, young man." And then, in a horribly infuriating manner, he took another casual swig from the cup, shooting the younger boy a wink. "Seniority's a bitch."

The boy swiveled around with an angry huff, his face almost as red as his hair as he marched back to the end of the alcohol line. I was caught between feeling bad for him and laughing—Zach could be a bit of a git sometimes, but his humor and popularity usually let him get away with it. He caught my look and shrugged, smirking. "Kid's fourteen—I'm doing him a favor."

"Yeah, I'm sure saving him from alcoholism was your motive."

"'Course."

"How gallant."

"Always—now let's get Price drunk."

I jolted slightly—Price as in _Fiona_ Price?—though before I could confirm this, I was being yanked up the stairs behind Zach. "Wait—"

"Believe me, it's the funniest damn thing you'll ever see in your life," he tossed over his shoulder, raising his voice a bit to carry over the music blasting below us. "She can drink vodka like it's water, but give her a drop of gin and she's a slurring mess!"

On second thought, maybe I liked this idea. "Zach, Fiona and I aren't exactly the best of friends, you know…"

"One sip of this drink and you'll be her Maid of bloody Honor," he assured me, laughter brightening his voice as we emerged onto the second floor. It was a platform overhanging the dance floor with a much more lounge-style vibe—dark, edgy lighting, trendy couches and chairs dotted about, and a whole slew of people relaxing and chatting over drinks. He spotted Fiona after a moment and nodded in her direction, grinning. "Go time."

I vaguely registered his hand on the small of my back as he led me to the corner of laughing seventh years, more preoccupied with determining if a certain passive-aggressive Scottish idiot was with them or not. Much to my disappointment, he wasn't, although that did mean that he wasn't with Fiona.

You win some, you lose some.

"Fiona, my little buttercup," Zach purred as he slid his arms around her waist from behind, pulling her against his chest, "I bought you a drink."

She slowly swiveled about to face him, smile frosty. "The drinks are free, Zach."

He tossed his head back in a groan, refusing to relinquish his hold on her. "What is it with women and details?"

She rolled her eyes, lips parting to respond, though her eyes promptly caught on mine. And then, almost unnoticeably, they narrowed. "Hello, Andy." Cue the fake friendliness.

"Fiona," I nodded, ready to leave it at that, though her eyes slowly descended down the length of me, taking every detail of my appearance into that frighteningly calculative head of hers and analyzing it thoroughly. She didn't seem pleased with her conclusion.

"Great match," she offered after a moment, the epitome of prim and polite. "I wish I could've stayed to watch the end." The implication of 'and seen your head get smashed by a broom' was thinly veiled.

I smiled coolly. "Don't worry, you were definitely where you belonged." At her slightly affronted look, I appended, "Your injuries might've worsened if you hadn't been rushed to the Hospital Wing immediately."

She forced a smile onto her lips, though her eyes were hazel razors. "Right."

"So, love," Zach cut in, sensing the tension spiraling and redirecting her focus, "about this drink I went out of my way to get you—"

"I can smell the bloody gin from here, Zach—honestly, how dim do you think I am?" she snipped, rolling her eyes in a decidedly bratty fashion that screamed of wealth and superiority. However, her gaze caught on something over my shoulder in the process, and in one of the most dramatic metamorphoses I've ever seen, she became a bright, sexy, flirty little pixie.

"He's trying to slip me gin again," she explained in a humor-filled, damsel-in-distress style sigh, and for a baffling second I thought she was talking to me. "Honestly, this obsession you all have with getting me drunk is entirely unfair! You're supposed to be the responsible one, Oliver."

I stiffened instantly. Oh.

"Responsibility's overrated," came the dry, accented reply from mere inches behind me, and a set of crack-addicted butterflies decided my stomach was a great place to learn the foxtrot. _Don't turn around—the second he sees it's you, he'll leave_, my head said, though my body was itching to do the opposite. It was irritating, really, how violent a physical reaction his stupid voice could elicit from me, but what can you do.

"Well, overrated or not, it's your responsibility as a gentlemen to save an innocent girl from the perils of Zach Davies!" she reprimanded, giggling as Zach moved in to nuzzle her neck. I wanted to throw up.

Wood chuckled darkly behind me, and after a brief moment, I felt a large hand on the small of my back. "S'cuse me," he muttered, eyes thoughtlessly flickering up to mine as he made to move past me, though the second they made contact, the humor drained from them and he stopped.

I was honestly caught between wanting to throttle him and wanting to snog the living hell out of him—his hair was careless and rumpled, his eyes were dark and hazy with residual alcohol, and the planes of his face were thrown into sharp relief by the shadowed lighting. His hand lingered on my back, fingers splayed and palm wonderfully roughened, and I tried to ignore the electrical spitfires going off at the contact—we were in a sodding stalemate, for Merlin's sake.

We merely stared at each other for a moment—his eyes sweeping down the length of my face, mine stubbornly refusing to look anywhere but his—until his lips parted briefly. He looked like he was about to say something, guarded stare slowly lifting back up to mine, though Fiona chose that exact moment to interrupt.

"Zach!" she squealed particularly loudly, an infectious giggle following the name. "Get off! Oliver, help!"

The daze shattered instantly as we both looked over, his hand slipping off my back and dropping instead to his side. Zach was coaxing the cup against her lips, distracting her by murmuring seductive nothings into her ear and making her laugh, and Wood merely shook his head, morphing back into his cool, unaffected self. "Davies, you're a menace to society," he said with a smirk, approaching the two and yanking Zach back by the loose end of his tie.

"Oi, I was making progress, mate!"

"Just give it up."

"Honestly, you're never going to get me drunk."

"Is that a challenge, Miss Price?"

"Perhaps, Mr. Davies."

Zach wriggled his eyebrows. "Feisty."

I could see the disgust lurking beneath the surface of her skin, but she carried on with her deceitfully flirtatious routine anyway, sneaking the occasional glance at Wood, who'd edged off into a neighboring conversation, to gauge how charmed he was. I had to admit, I was mildly impressed with her persistence—Zach was all but feeling her up at this point—though she promptly caught on to my staring.

"Was there something you wanted?" she asked after a moment, cocking her head to the side in a show of curiosity.

I snapped out of my daze. "Sorry?"

She laughed lightly—it was prickly and biting. "It's just that this is clearly a seventh year gathering, and you're just sort of hanging about awkwardly, so I was wondering if you had a question or something."

Anger blistered over my skin, though Zach instantly came to my pseudo-defense, abandoning her to toss an arm around my shoulders. "Aw, Fiona, don't be such a cow," he drawled, a slight slur beginning to reemerge in his speech. "Andy's brilliant." He gave me a bleary, sidelong glance, "And fit as hell, if I do say so myself…"

"Oh, please," she snipped, tossing her hair, "in your state, a Grindylow would seem fit as hell."

And with that, she swiveled about and waltzed off to another conversation, ignoring Zach as he called out, "Only a really cute one!" He grinned and dropped his gaze back down to mine, shrugging. "She gets jealous."

I smiled half-heartedly, but my eyes lingered on Fiona, watching as she joined the conversation beside Wood with complete ease. They all reacted warmly to the sight of her—Amelie Legrande, the pretty French transfer from Beaubaxtons, Dexter Jones, the mathematical genius with the ridiculous afro, Caroline Abbot, the muggle football star… They were people I knew of, but never really _knew_ save for a few quick words here and there, and for some reason or other, this realization bothered me. The seventh year Gryffs were known for being in an established little world of their own, but I guess I hadn't fully felt the exclusivity until right now.

It was an unpleasant feeling.

Without really thinking about it, I took a sip from the drink I'd forgotten I even had, almost spitting it back out as the spicy, electric flavor flooded my tongue—_damn_. That packed a bloody_ punch_, son. With a slight grimace, I set it down on the table. _Hell_ if I was drinking that thing… "Y'alright?" Zach asked, looking drunker by the second, and before I could respond, a rowdy group of blokes crashed into me from behind, sending me involuntarily flying against him.

"Jesus—sorry," I said as I attempted to disentangle myself, but his hands had already found their way around my waist, holding me against him in a way that suggested he wasn't going to let go any time soon.

"Oh, believe me, love, it's a pleasure," he purred, and in the process of snapping my eyes up to stare exasperatedly at him, I noticed something very unfortunate—my vision was lagging. Oh, bloody hell. And so it begins.

"Zach, dearest," I said pleasantly, trying to ignore the familiar buzzing sensation that was starting to diffuse through my bloodstream, "let me go."

"Andy, dearest," he drawled, arching a slow, seductive brow, "you'll have to snog me first."

"Replace snog with punch and you've got yourself a deal," I replied, though the words came out a bit slower than I'd meant them to, making them seem sultry. God, I knew that shot would be the death of me. Tequila needs to die.

"Mmm, fiery, are we?" he purred, dropping his head down to brush his nose against mine, making a slew of alarms go off inside me. "I've always liked that about you…"

I reared back as his mouth made a dive for mine, entirely uncomfortable with the situation now. "Very funny, Zach," I said, placing a hand on his chest to ward him off, but he merely smirked and went in again. "Seriously, stop," I demanded a bit more seriously, dodging his lips yet again, though the movement was making my head start to spin.

"Aw, c'mon, Andy," he drawled with a now obvious slur, snaking a hand down the curve of my back, "jus' one little kiss'z all I ask for…"

"_Zach_!" I snapped as his mouth once again sought mine, attempting to push him back so I could free myself from his grip, but he merely chuckled against my lips, entirely unmoved. Merlin, my sense of balance was o—my eyes suddenly clouded with anger: was that his _hand_ pinching my _bum_? My body stiffened, all playfulness flying right out the window.

"Sommin' wrong, love?" he asked, eyes heavy-lidded and smug, and just as I felt my fingers lifting for a slap, a hand clapped over Zachary's shoulder, pulling him away from me in a perfectly chummy manner that made my blood boil. Mainly because my (his?) rescuer was Wood. And he was just the picture of friendly.

"Davies, mate," he said pleasantly, "we're starting up a game of Risk—you in?"

Zach's face lit up. "_Hell_ yeah! I live for Risk!"

Wood laughed. "I figured—oi, go help set up and I'll join you in a second," he said, nodding his head downstairs to indicate the balcony.

"Right on," Zach replied, sending me a wink before swiveling about rather unsteadily and making his way to the stairs. I watched him go with a potent mixture of distaste and tequila buzzing through my system before snapping my eyes back over to Wood. It took a moment for his image to focus before me, but when it did, I wished it hadn't.

His stare was slowly trailing down the length of me, sweeping over every angle and curve of my body in silent, deliberate appraisal. His eyes were obscured, shadowed by the intensity of his observation, and I stiffened immediately under the scrutiny, willing myself to stamp out the nervous vulnerability creeping up my neck. _It's just Wood, Andy—he's seen you sweaty and disgusting and covered in mud_, I told myself, trying to build up some confidence. When his eyes finally met mine, however, all confidence flew out the window.

His expression was completely flat. "Nice dress." The words were uttered with enough derision to make a slap in the face seem like a handshake.

It took me a second to recover from the blow, but when I did, it wasn't pretty. A culmination of everything—the avoidance, the refusal to tell me anything, Fiona, the fact that he could see one his best mates harassing me and yet he treated _me_ like the one at fault—it all spiraled together into a moment of pure, unbridled anger. And I kind of snapped.

By kind of snapped, I mean I kind of grabbed his drink and threw it in his face. It was mostly ice, but whatever—beggars can't be choosers. He reared back slightly, wiping his cheek with his sleeve, though all in all he didn't seem particularly surprised with the reaction. I stormed off into the crowd, struggling to get down the stairs. "Wiles," he called.

I ignored him, trying to ride my wave of anger so that the hurt wouldn't set in. Deep down, I felt humiliated—he'd been looking at me the exact same way I'd been looking at myself in the mirror. Like a slag. A stupid girl in a short little dress, desperate for a bloke's attention. Merlin, I knew this was a mistake—everything about this night was just a stupid mistake.

"Wiles, stop," he tried again, following me down the stairs, and I threw a beautiful hand gesture over my shoulder in response. What, did he have more to say? Did he want to comment on my hair, too? My make-up? The fact that my legs were bronzed up, that my nails were done, and that deep down, subconsciously, I'd done it with the hope of running in to him? Well, that sounded like a positively thrilling conversation, really, but I'd rather go hang myself off the chandelier in the common room.

"Andy," he growled, frustration clouding his voice as his fingers found their way around my wrist, yanking me around in the middle of the staircase and causing the room to start spinning around me. "I'm sorry—"

"I say this with all sincerity, Oliver, so listen closely: _fuck you_," I snapped, noticing that he quite clearly wasn't drunk anymore. Tipsy, obviously, but the slurring mess that'd come into this party was nowhere to be found. "Fuck you for being too much of a pansy to so much as _glance_ at me all night, for not being able to make up your damn mind about what the hell I am to you, and for all in all being a colossal sodding _prick_!"

He scoffed at my diatribe, his former penitence dissipating slightly and making way for bitterness. "Oh, sure. Play the victim, Andy—it's what you do best."

"Play the _victim_?" I spat, trying to ignore my growing disorientation. "What the hell are you—"

"You know damn well what I'm talking about," he snapped, cornering me slightly as I attempted to dodge him, arms shooting past either side of me and gripping the banister behind. "You poke and prod into things you know nothing about like their some sort of fun little mystery for you to solve, and when I don't feel particularly chatty about them, you resort to stunts like this!"

"Stunts like _what_?"

His eyes slitted. "Oh, I don't know—like showing up in a tiny little dress so that it'd be really fucking hard for me to ignore you?"

Indignation swept through me. "I am not wearing this for you, you self-centered asshole!" _Liar_, a tiny voice echoed inside me, incensing me further.

"Of course you're not," he scoffed, his expression remarkably transparent at the moment—I could see the anger, the bitterness, and the frustration in clear detail. "And Davies feeling you up right in front of me; that was just a coincidence too, right?"

This time, pure outrage soared through me, no tiny voices included—was he fucking _serious_? That was _entirely_ mental. However, just as my lips sprang open, a strident voice called over the stairwell, "If it isn't our two favorite Quidditch players! Let's hear it for the best Captain and best Seeker Gryffindor's ever seen!" A series of cheers rang around us, swallowing the cutting words off my tongue. Wood and I continued to glare at each other, expressions utterly incensed, though the crowd didn't seem to notice in all their drunken glory.

"Give him a kiss, Andy!" one girl cried, giggling like mad. "'Coz if you don't, I will!"

"Hear, hear!" a chorus of girls cheered, and within seconds, the entirety of the crowd was egging me on, shouting 'Snog him! Snog him! Snog him!' like their life depended on it. My expression was riotous—fucking _hell_ if I was going to snog him!—though the moment I attempted to wrench out his grasp and storm down the stairs, the crowd surged forward.

"Nope! No one's getting down until you give the man his celebratory snog," a particularly obnoxious fifth year announced, his frighteningly large frame blocking the way, and I seriously debated pushing him down the stairs.

"C'mon, Andy, he deserves it!" another girl yelled, laughing like it was all in good fun, and I was struck by how moronic people could be: this was the guy that kicked me off his goddamn team two weeks ago. What, we win and all of a sudden we're a big, happy family again? _False._

"A kick in the bollocks is what he deserves," I growled as I once again tried to squeeze past the crowd, though the same stupid fifth year predictably rebuffed me. Jesus, I was going to kill this kid.

"Just one, girlie—c'mon, we all know you want to!" a girl I'd never even met before said with a grin, motioning with her hand for the chant to grow louder, and my head quickly started pounding—I needed to get out of here. These people were a nightmare. However, just as I felt myself preparing to explode, a familiar hand grabbed mine roughly and whirled me around, sending me stumbling forward into its owner: Wood.

And then, without any sort of warning, his mouth was on mine. Shock and fury jolted through me, sending frissions of electricity down my spine, though the feelings were promptly muted by the familiar, lobotomizing heat that seemed to accompany all of his kisses. Anger was radiating off him in waves, manifested in the harshness of his grip and the roughness of his movements, but I found myself incapable of protest—he was rough, raw, and entirely intoxicating.

For a moment, I wanted nothing more than to forget everything and snog the living hell out of him. To pretend to live in a world where there were no conflicting emotions, no underlying dramas, nothing—just a boy who liked a girl and a girl who liked a boy and that was that. But the moment passed quickly, and reality set in: he wasn't that boy and I wasn't that girl. He was Oliver and I was Andy, and for some godforsaken reason, that shot everything to hell. And I was tired of it.

Really, really tired of it.

Thus, with every ounce of willpower I possessed, I shoved him backwards and broke the kiss. And that's when the cheers registered in my ears, the music soared back into my awareness, and the present resettled itself around me—I hadn't even realized I'd lost touch with it. Wood's stare was burning into mine, face entirely too close, eyes a dark, charred amber color that spoke volumes of his mood, and my own eyes slitted in response.

"Satisfied?" I called out to the crowd, eyes trained on his, though my voice promptly lowered into a barely audible murmur. "I'm done with this, Wood. Really, I'm just… done." And I honestly was—I was sick of it all; sick of the drama, sick of the misunderstandings, and sick of feeling like I was stuck in a bloody soap opera where every minute brought on a new obstacle. I was a simple person; I led a simple sodding life—this whole thing was starting to feel invasive.

And okay, yeah, maybe the tequila was exacerbating the situation, but still, this had to be coming from somewhere.

He merely held my stare for a moment, dark and unbearably heated. Then, without responding, he tossed his head back and yelled, "Who's up for a game of Risk!?" A baritone chorus of cheers sounded, and before I knew it, a swarm of rowdy males was ushering him down the stairs toward the balcony. He was laughing and slapping hands with a few of them, totally and completely at ease all of a sudden. My eyes slitted. Oh, sure. The typical Wood M.O.—avoidance. "Can a bloke get a bloody drink around here?" he called out, and one was instantly handed to him. He downed it all in one swig, shaking his head to clear off the effects and hurling the cup over his shoulder. "Alright, now let's play some sodding Risk!"

What a git. Seriously, what a sodding git—what the bloody hell did we get solved? Nothing. I tell him I'm done with him, and he waltzes off without any sort of acknowledgment whatsoever. Christ, it was just—_God_! Why? Why did everything have to be such a freaking drama? Up in the air, never conclusive—all he needed to say was 'fine', 'sounds good', _something_. Honestly, could I have picked a worse person to start something with? Wood was just… Merlin, he was just so _freaking_ frustrating, I didn't… he just… he was honestly just—

"Driving me in-bloody-sane," I growled under my breath, watching him and a bunch of other blokes summon their brooms in preparation for Risk. I tried not to feel anything at the sight, but an underlying current of apprehension traversed me anyway. Risk was bad news, particularly when drunk people were involved, although generally only drunk people were stupid enough to play it. It was essentially an incredibly dangerous drinking game: everyone playing would line up along the balcony, jump off, and the first person to summon their broom was out. The remaining players would all take a shot of Firewhiskey, line up, and do it all over again, and the process would repeat until it came down to two. The one who waited longest before calling their broom won.

Granted, the last two or three players were usually completely shit-faced, so a tie was called, but even still, it was an incredibly dangerous game that put everyone watching on edge. The Summoning Charm was extremely precise—if you're inflection was even slightly off, it wouldn't work—so if you messed it up, someone would have to try and stop you from killing yourself. A few students had gotten seriously injured before, so the game was completely prohibited at Hogwarts. Then again, so was underage drinking… goes to show you how rule abiding we all are here…

"So that's seven in, then?" Davies called over the crowd quickly forming around the balcony, making a tally of the number of players. "I have me, Weasley, Weasley, Wood, Killian, Jordan, and Cruz—anyone else?" At the general silence, he shrugged. "Alright, let's get this party started, then!"

"Idiot," I growled under my breath as I watched from the stairs, refusing to go down to the balcony. Since when did Wood even play Risk? Merlin, of all people, he was Mr. Eliminate All Necessary Danger In Life—first he shows up drunk and now this? Had he gotten some sort of brain transplant since our fight in Arithmancy?

"Line up, men!" George called out, hopping onto the ledge of the balcony as if it weren't four hundred meters above the ground. "Has everyone taken their shot?"

"God, I hate it when they do this," a nervous voice murmured to my left, and I was surprised to find Katie standing beside me, chewing her lip. Her cheeks were still flushed from dancing, hair slightly disheveled, but the former laughter in her eyes was replaced with worry. She didn't like the game to begin with, but it gave her a near panic attack whenever Lee and the Weasleys joined in. "Boys are so stupid."

"Tell me about it," came a familiar snap, and I didn't even have to look to know that Alicia had just come up on my left. "I'm not a huge fan of your friend, Andy."

"You mean Gabe?"

"No, I mean the bloody milkman."

Well, someone was in a strop.

"There you guys are!" Angelina's voice called from the dance floor, and I glanced over to see her rushing up the stairs with a bright smile on her face. "Where the hell have you two been? Kats and I were bringing down the house with our disco moves, but you've been totally MIA!"

"I've been arguing politics with Mr. I'm-So-Cheeky-and-Clever for the past two hours," Alicia grumbled, nodding at me. "No clue about this one."

I sighed tiredly. "I don't want to get into it."

Angelina shot me a quizzical look, though before she could lay into me with questions, a loud roar rose from the balcony. My heart skipped an involuntary beat—they'd jumped. A few seconds passed until the brooms started being summoned, disappearing off the balcony one by one, and Angelina narrowed her eyes in confusion. "What on earth are they—?" she halted suddenly, realization flooding her expression. "Are they playing Risk?"

"Yep," Alicia replied, inspecting her fingernails in boredom.

Angelina's eyes cut into absolute slits. "Where's Fred?"

"Probably still hurtling toward the ground," Alicia said simply.

A wave of rage crashed over Angelina as she whirled around and thundered down the stairs, her pretty braids flying around her face. "_Fred Weasley_!" she screeched, voice murderous—if Katie hated Risk, Angelina loathed it with the force of a thousand suns. A few heads whipped around in surprise as she barreled into the crowd, pushing people out of the way like only an angry girlfriend could. "Get up here right now or I'll castrate you in your sleep!"

He hovered into view a few moments later, hair ruffled and expression sheepish. "'Lo, love…"

"Don't bloody 'love' me—get off that stupid broom _now_!"

A few people started laughing as Fred landed, head hung low, the very picture of a little boy caught eating cookies before dinner by his mum. She grabbed him by his collar the second his feet touched the ground, yanking him behind her as she stormed off to the hallway for what was presumably one of her 'little chats'. Said chats were often loud and took ten years off the recipient's life.

"Sucks to be Fred," Alicia snorted, dropping the hand she was examining and glancing back over to the balcony. The blokes were stalling about the ledge, chuckling like idiots and egging on the crowd. "C'mon, fucking jump already!" she shouted, rolling her eyes. "They take so long before each round—drives me mental…"

Alicia, quite obviously, had no moral problems with Risk.

"I just really hate this game," Katie repeated, rubbing her tensed shoulders with her palms. "Everything about it—the principal, the objective, the motivation, it's all so sodding _stup_—" she gasped involuntarily as they jumped again, unable to keep herself from clasping her hand to her heart. My pulse sped up a bit as the five heads disappeared from view, hurtling toward the ground in a literal free-fall. All eyes snapped over to the brooms.

_One second…_

_Three seconds…_

_Five seconds…_

The broom with the name 'Lee Jordan' glowing over it flew off the ledge, followed almost instantly by the one under the name 'Manuel Cruz'. About a second later, George's broom arced back into a dive, disappearing off the ledge and flying down to meet him, and it wasn't until the eight-second mark that Zach's broom jerked into motion and followed suit.

Wood's broom was the last to move, and it did so a full second later than Zach's.

My grip on the banister became painfully tight—he was playing to win. Why the hell was he doing this? He never played Risk. Was this some sort of twisted way of giving me a taste of my own medicine or something? My heart began beating harder as Lee and Manuel surfaced, competitive grins on their faces, wondering who had summoned faster. "Lee's out!" Teddy Killian, the seventh year Ravenclaw who'd been eliminated in the first round, called out, and Katie breathed out a huge sigh of relief beside me.

"Oh, thank God."

"Lee's gone soft," Alicia muttered, dropping her chin into her hand and sighing.

George surfaced a few seconds later, followed promptly by Zach and Wood, who were in the middle of laughing uproariously at something. Anger sparked through me—oh, sure, laugh it up while anyone who cares about you has a sodding meltdown. "Thickheads," I grumbled, trying to keep my heartbeat steady as they prepped for round three.

"Grab your shots!" Zach called out as he downed his, shaking his head in shivery delight before tossing it back and howling like a werewolf. "Nothing like Firewhiskey!" he cried, grinning like only a drunk seventeen-year-old male could.

The other three promptly followed suit, taking their obligatory shots before all of the remaining four lined up along the ledge. "Alright, round three," Teddy announced, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Aaaand, _jump_!"

My fingers clenched instantly, knuckles turning white as the four disappeared from view. The seconds flew by, each one making it harder to breathe, until sure enough, at the last sodding second, Wood's broom flew off the ledge and dove down into the darkness. My eyes snapped shut—he was cutting it close. He was cutting it _really_ bloody close. Zach was getting a bit more daring, too, his time maybe half a second shorter than Wood's this time, which meant that both of them would most likely face off in the final round.

I bit down hard on my lip at the thought. Zach was one of the people who had almost killed himself in Risk before—he was known for waiting ridiculously long before calling his broom. Problem was, Wood was clearly set on beating him. In this round, Manuel had caved first, which left George, Zach, and Wood, but deep down, I knew where this was going.

And I didn't like it.

At all.

* * *

"Oliver! Oliver! Oliver! Oliver!"

"Zach! Zach! Zach! Zach!"

The chants were boisterous and loud, overlapping each other in a cacophonous harmony that had the entirety of the Astronomy Tower vibrating. Blokes were cheering thunderously, roaring out taunts and words of encouragement, and girls were squealing in a mixture of delight and horror, transfixed by the utter spectacle unfolding before them. You see, everyone had pretty much guessed that it would come down to Zach and Oliver in the final round—they were, after all, getting the longest times.

What no one had guessed was that they would be tied for five rounds straight.

"Round eleven, mates!" Teddy Killian cried, holding out two shots of Firewhiskey for either of them. They were completely and utterly wasted by this point, stumbling over to the grab their glasses and nearly tripping over each other in the process, but both refused to call it a draw, stubbornly insisting on determining a winner. "Let's see if the eleventh time's the charm!"

"Hear, hear!" Zach slurred, raising his now empty glass to the crowd before slamming it down on the balcony ledge, and Wood merely tossed his to the side, letting it shatter on the concrete.

"Let's do this," he muttered, words blurring a bit.

The blaring cheers grew louder as the two climbed back onto the ledge of the balcony, wobbling a bit and nearly losing their balance a few times, though everyone was too immersed in the rivalry to really care about the danger of the situation. Everyone, that is, except for the lone girl on the staircase with bright, anxious eyes, hunched shoulders, clenched fists, and cuts from where her nails were digging into her palms like razors.

In other words, everyone except me.

I was honestly, from-the-bottom-of-my-sodding-heart trying not to care. Trying to be like all of those other people in the crowd who were enjoying themselves, lost in the exciting rivalry of it all, totally sucked in—but I couldn't. I was terrified. Completely and totally terrified. With every jump Wood took, I felt my heart leap out of my chest; with every second he waited before summoning his broom, I felt a stronger urge to faint; I was honestly about to start hyperventilating.

Katie had left a while ago after Lee had approached her about something, and Alicia had gone down to the balcony so that her cries of, "Eleven seconds? You guys are pansies—my grandmother has bigger bollocks than you!" could be better heard, which meant I was alone in my panic attack. "This is so unnecessary," I muttered anxiously, nervous energy thrumming through my body. It was _ludicrous_—why the hell wasn't anyone stopping them? They could barely walk, for Christ's sake, let alone cast a tricky charm correctly! "So complete and totally unnecessa—" a sharp gasp punctuated my words as Wood accidentally stumbled, morphing into a horrified cry as he careened backward and fell off the balcony.

Screams filled the air—it was one thing to jump off knowingly, it was another entirely to stumble off and fail to conjure your broom in all the disorientation—and before I knew it, I was barreling down the stairs. People were desperately scrambling over to the ledge, aiming their wands to try and cast a levitating spell on him, but I processed nothing—all I could feel was my heart pounding bloody murder in my ears, my entire body shaking, and my knees threatening to give in beneath me as I ran. If he… if no one managed to… I couldn't—

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" his voice suddenly called from below, Scottish accent rich and slurred, and a tidal wave of relief crashed over me. I slumped against the bar, hand pressed against my racing heart. Thank God. Thank bloody _God_. "Really, I'm fine—game's still on!" he announced with a drunken smile as he surfaced from the fall, lazily draped over his broom, and my head snapped up. _What_? Like fucking _hell_ it was!

"No!" I snapped through the cheers, pushing my way through the inebriated crowd until I broke into the center where Wood and Davies were standing. Zach cheered when he saw me, stumbling over to give me a hug, but I shoved him off with relative ease, instead climbing onto the ledge myself and probably flashing sixty people in the process. "Game's off, people!" I declared once I'd straightened out, ignoring the instant chorus of boos. "Zach and Oliver tie, the end, now go back to the par—"

"Game's not off!" a stubborn voice interjected, and my eyes snapped over to Oliver's. He was climbing right back onto the ledge as if he hadn't just fallen off and nearly died, ignoring me completely and immersed in competition mode. "C'mon, Davies, let's do it."

"Tha'z whatta like to hear!" Zach drawled, grinning as he began stumbling over to the ledge.

"No—Zach, stop," I snapped, holding a hand out and making him come to an unsteady halt. "Game _is_ over. I'm serious. I'm sorry to ruin the fun, but—"

"Who _died_," Wood suddenly interjected, and I glanced over to see his bleary stare focused on me, "an' made _you_ referee, love?"

A few people from the crowd shouted out in agreement, chuckling at Wood's comment, and my skin prickled with fury. He was watching me smugly, balance shoddy and overall appearance haphazard, and it was with great difficultly that I kept myself from exploding. "You're hammered, Wood," I stated as evenly as I could, fists clenched tightly at my sides. "You're in no condition to be—"

"I believe _I_ am the judge o'that," he cut in once again, "an' _I_ think that I'm perfectly fine! You alright, Davies?"

"Smashin'," the blonde cheered, throwing his hands up and accidentally staggering back into a pretty Hufflepuff. "Nev'r been better!"

"Well, then, it looks like the game's on," he deduced, smirking triumphantly as the crowd began cheering again. "Sorry, love," he shot my way, shrugging completely insincerely. "Rules are rules." And with that, he turned back to face the balcony, taking a dramatic bow in response to the applause and nearly falling over in the process.

And I just snapped: "Alright, _enough_!" I shouted, pent up fury filibustering inside of me as I scrambled off the ledge, stormed over, and yanked Wood down by the untucked end of his shirt. He staggered backwards once I let go, barely able to keep from falling over as his back crashed against the railing.

"The _hell_, Wiles!" he cried, fumbling to right himself, though I'd rounded on him before he could finish his sentence.

"You're drunk, Wood! You're bloody shit-faced—you really think I'm going to let you jump off the fucking Astronomy Tower!?" I cried, voice toeing the line between furious and hysterical.

"Let me?" he repeated, laughter suddenly bubbling up his throat. "You're not my bloody _girlfriend_, Wiles, you don't have to _let me_ do anything!"

I stiffened immediately, taken aback by the statement. He was laughing like it was the funniest damn thing he'd ever heard, growing more and more amused by the second, whilst I merely stood there and tried to deal with the hurricane of emotions swirling through me: anger, embarrassment, and a considerable amount of hurt. I mean, obviously I knew I wasn't his girlfriend, but the way he said it was like the idea was completely preposterous to him, like it'd never even crossed his mind.

People were starting to stare at me with knowing looks—some smug, some chuckling out an 'ouch', and some just irritated that I was interrupting their source of entertainment—and I was hit by the overwhelming need to just get the hell away from it all. The people, the party, the music; everything. Unfortunately, I couldn't leave without Wood. The second I did, he'd climb right back up on that balcony and more than likely accidentally kill himself.

Thus, I found myself swallowing my pride for what seemed like the hundredth time in the past week and grabbing Wood's hand. "We're leaving."

He pulled out of my grasp easily, staggering back a few steps and snorting in amusement. "_You're_ leaving—I have a game to finish."

"Wood."

"Yes, love?" he replied with a drunken smirk.

My eyes cut into slits. "If you don't grow the fuck up and follow me back, _I'll_ join the game."

He rolled his eyes, chuckling. "You can't join the game—against the rules."

"Rules aren't really my thing, remember?"

"Please," he scoffed, ruffling my hair like I was a cute little kid before swiveling about unsteadily to climb back onto the ledge. I took advantage of the moment.

"Oi," I called out to the crowd, eyes trained on his back, "what do you all think about making this game a little more interesting? How does a Keeper vs. Seeker round sound?"

A roar of approval sounded from the people gathered behind us, making my expression harden. I would do it. If it came down to it, I would bloody jump. Wood's retreating frame stiffened briefly at the sound of the cheers, coming to a halt before slowly turning around. He looked considerably less amused than before. "No."

"No?"

"_No. _"

"Then follow me back."

"I have a game to finish," he growled.

"Then I guess I do, too," I said with a shrug, waltzing over to George's broom and picking it up. "Mind if I borrow this, Geor—"

"_No_," Oliver cut in, grabbing the broom from my hand with an angry swipe and tossing it on the ground. I stared at him coldly, an underlying part of me amazed at how clearly he expressed his emotions when he was drunk—his eyes were like an open book.

"No, what?"

"No, I'm not going to let you bloody play!"

My stare tapered drastically. "Let me?" I echoed, the mockery frigid in my voice, "You're not my bloody _boyfriend_, Wood, you don't have to _let me_ do anything."

His eyes were the color of burnt gold as they glared into mine, angry and frustrated and utterly incensed. He didn't say anything for a moment, his lips pressed into a tight, thin line. And then, "_Fine_." He grabbed my wrist, swiveled about, and yanked me behind him, pushing through the crowd on slightly unstable feet. "Game's over!" he growled as he did so, struggling not to stumble into people.

A silent breath of relief left me, though my expression remained drawn—I knew the night wasn't over, but at least the life-threatening part was done. Suicide avoidance: check! Now stay tuned for the angry, drunken showdown! God, my life's just a picnic basket of bloody sunshine lately…

I shook my head as we finally reached the entrance to the hallway. The cool, silent air struck me the second the door to the Astronomy Tower closed, causing my eyes to shut in relish—_Merlin_, I'd needed to get out of there. The rowdy crowd, the drunken screams, the music; it's all fine and dandy when things were going well, but when things were as screwed up as they were right now? Not so much.

After a few seconds of silent walking, my eyes fluttered back open, instantly landing on Wood. He was walking ahead of me with long, unsteady steps, frustrated anger blistering over him, hand still tightly clamped around my wrist. I wondered briefly how far we'd get before he exploded, since I could practically hear the ticking from the time bomb he'd turned into, though I didn't have to wonder long—not ten seconds later, he rounded on me with a bleary-eyed, angry expression.

"Not very fun, yeah?"

My eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"Being the responsible one," he continued, attempting to walk backwards and stumbling like crazy. "Rather sucks, doesn't it?"

"You're going to hurt yourself, Wood," I cut out, flinching as his shoulder banged into a suit of armor.

He paid the warning no heed, continuing his backwards walk and chuckling darkly. "You don't get it."

"No, I get it just fine," I snapped, irritation evident in my voice. "I just don't agree."

"Really?" he said with laugh, narrowly avoiding crashing into a desk that one of the professors had left outside his office. "Tell me, _please_, why you don't agree. I'm _dying_ to know, Andy—really, dying."

I rolled my eyes at his mockery. "You're drunk, Wood."

"Why don't you agree?"

"Wood—"

"Why don't you agree!"

"Because it's not the same fucking thing, that's why!" I snapped, drawing to a halt. He promptly followed suit, swaying the slightest bit, but that didn't stop me at all. "Jesus, Wood, you think being the captain of a team with a risky Seeker is _anything_ like what you just pulled? You could've—"

"Died?" he interjected, mouth quirked into a foggy, lopsided smile as he took an unsteady step forward. "Gotten _seriously_ injured? Scared the shit out of all my friends, given you a heart-attack, had to go to the Hospital Wing, blah, blah blah, blah, _blah_…" he waved a hand, backing me up against the wall with a few ungainly strides and placing an hand on either side of me to steady himself. And then, in a matter of half a second, his expression darkened into a scowl, face lowering to within inches of mine. "Welcome to my world."

"That's not fair," I gritted out, anger and tension starting to traverse me in waves.

"Really?" he mocked, raising a brow. "How do you figure that?"

"Because when I takes risks on the pitch, I take them for a sodding reas—" I cut off as he began laughing—it was a low, languorous chuckle that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

"You think this is just about Quidditch," he muttered, dropping his forehead down against mine. My pulse instantly spiked—heat was radiating off him in dizzying waves, thick with the smoky smell of Firewhiskey. "You really do—you actually, whole-heartedly _think_…" he murmured the words against my lips, hot breath fluttering against my skin, "that this is just about Quidditch…"

"I'm not—" I began, though the quick movement of my lips caused them to brush against his, causing my eyes to flutter closed in restraint, "I'm not saying that, Wood—"

"Then what are you saying?" he countered, slowly dropping his lips against mine in a soft, melting kiss that ended almost as quickly as it began. "Hm? What is my stubborn," he kissed the corner of my mouth, "opinionated," he kissed the other corner, "heroic little Andy saying?"

I honestly had no bloody idea what we were even talking about anymore, but I knew that I wasn't at all a fan of his tone. "I'm not following, Oliver…"

"Me neither," he murmured, and with that admission, his mouth was on mine. Every brain cell instantly rebelled against the action, commanding me to recoil, but my physical reaction overwhelmed the protest as my eyes rolled back in pleasure—his tongue was slow and seductive and absolutely scalding. An inner voice was screaming to stop—that we had issues to solve, that he was drunk and making stupid decisions, and that I'd just bloody told him I was done with him a few hours ago—but I couldn't bring myself to listen. His hand dropped from the wall to my waist, pulling my body flush against his, and I felt all control slip away from me.

Fucking _hell_, I felt like drug addict. Spirals of heat were shooting through me at an astounding speed, leaving a low, simmering burn in their wake, and every nerve in my body was pricking with heightened sensitivity. "You have no idea," he murmured between kisses, free hand dropping to skim the bare skin of my thigh, "none…" he pressed on, "how hard it is for me to stay away from you."

The confession shook me out of my daze, and I reared back. "Stay away?"

His hazy eyes met mine for a moment, dark and heavy-lidded. "God, you're beautiful."

"Why are—what do you mean, 'stay away'?" I repeated, ignoring the flushing heat inspired by his compliment. "Why would you have to stay away from me?"

He lolled his head back with a dark, cynical chuckle. "Forget it."

"No, _stop_," I snapped as he made to kiss down my neck, shoving him back a few inches and glaring at him. "Answer me."

"It's nothing, love, honestly…"

"_Wood_," I growled, shoving him yet again and achieving far better results than I ever would have were he sober, "my cranial meltdown's over—I'm not going to snog you anymore."

He scoffed at this, tossing his hands up in surrender and laughing. "As you wish, princess." He swiveled about and began stumbling down the hallway, clothes a mess and hair rumpled in every which direction, and my eyebrows gathered into a dark, cutting frown.

"You said I reminded you of Claire," I ventured, watching closely for his reaction. There was none. "Is that why you have to stay away from me?"

"Sure," he tossed out flippantly, swiveling about and brandishing an arm. "Why not?"

"Oliver."

"I _really_ don't feel like getting psychoanalyzed right now, Andy, so if you _don't_ mind," he slurred, crashing right into another suit of armor as he turned back around. "_Damn_ it—the fucking hell are these things coming from?"

I sighed darkly, shaking my head as I walked over to him and grabbed his hand. "Just follow me." He clearly didn't want to talk and I clearly wasn't going to get him to, so it was probably best to just get him to bed. Merlin, this was a low. He was completely hammered, and I still couldn't get a bloody word out of him—at least, not one that helped explain the giant freaking question mark that was Oliver Wood.

I was starting to think this was hopeless.

I mean, honestly, maybe I should just give up. He was determined to avoid me for some reason or other, and it's not like I could rationalize the 'why' of it all because he wouldn't sodding tell me. Sure, I was irritatingly attracted to him, and yeah, maybe snogging him made me feel like a match that had just been stricken and lit, but what did that all matter in the long run? I couldn't do the whole on-the-side hook up thing—I'd tried it before, and it just wasn't me. Regardless of what I told myself, the feelings either weren't there or were, and if they were, I needed more than that.

Wood didn't seem willing to give me more.

These thoughts stirred silently in my head for the entirety of the trek back, swirling and sorting themselves at a slow, contemplative speed, and it wasn't until we'd reached the common room that Wood finally spoke again. What he said, however, took me entirely off-guard: "Claire was my little sister."

My hand froze on the doorknob to the Seventh Year Male Dormitories, stare snapping over to him. He was facing the wall, forehead propped against the crook of his upraised elbow, eyes closed. "Oh," I said carefully, keeping my tone as neutral as possible.

He rubbed his head against his forearm slowly, as if trying to fend off a headache, and remained silent for a few more moments. And then, "She died, but you probably already knew that. She was seven." He chuckled then, darkly. "Guess you can add that to your investigative report."

A pang of hurt flashed through me—seriously? Did he really think that was all I was? Some nosey girl that wanted to figure him out for her own satisfaction? "I'm not_investigating_ you, Wood. Jesus, has it ever occurred to you that I want to know this because I care about you?" I asked, bringing my hand to his shoulder, but he promptly dodged it, eyes flying over and cutting into mine.

"Then care less," he spat, taking me aback entirely with how frigid his demeanor had suddenly become. It was like a switch had just been hit inside of him, but before I could properly react, he was shoving the door to his room open. "Goodnight, Andy."

I stared in shock as he staggered in, slammed the door, and left me standing there with at least sixteen thousand emotions drenching me at once. The first one to break through the daze, however, was fury. And it only took a few seconds to detonate. "Oh, sure," I suddenly hissed, hands balling into tight, painful fists. "Oh, fucking sure, Wood, just do what you always bloody do and _run away from a problem without fixing it_!" I yelled, not caring at all who I was waking up in the process. "That's a great plan—in fact, you should use it more often! Oh, wait!" I cried, throwing my hands up into air, "you already use it in every goddamn argument we've ever ha—"

"Andy?"

The voice that cut through mine was tense, feminine, and came from the bottom of the staircase. I glanced over and saw Kats standing at the foot of the stairs, eyes dark and glittering, hands nervously fiddling with each other as she bit down on her lip. "Kats," I fumbled out, surprise diffusing through my anger. "What are you—"

"We need to talk," she cut in, her stare averting down to her feet for a moment. Worry instantly tore through me—was something wrong? Did something happen to someone? Had Alicia done something even stupider than usual? Fred and George killed themselves? However, before I could ask any of this, she took a deep breath, bracing herself for a moment before raising her eyes back to mine.

And then, "How much do you know about Claire?"

..._that_, I was not expecting.


	20. A Thousand Times Goodnight

**Settling the Score**

A Thousand Times Goodnight

"So."

"So."

I shot Katie an irritated look, eyes narrowing pointedly. The two of us were huddled up in her four-poster like the sappy best friends we were, sharing both her worn-out Snoopy blanket and the tub of Half-Baked I'd stolen from the kitchens earlier that day. Alicia and Angelina had yet to return from the party, so even though it was nearing two in the morning, Kats and I had the room to ourselves.

Too bad she was being totally evasive.

"Katie."

"I know, I know, I just…" she trailed off, absently twirling the spoon in her hand. "I feel bad. He doesn't really know I know this, and I—"

"You mean Wood?"

She nodded, and I immediately scoffed, causing her empathetic gaze to fly over to mine. "Don't judge him so quickly, Andy, there are things you don't know about him."

"And why is that?" I countered, tone a bit bitter. "Oh, right—because he's made it his life's mission to avoid me at all costs."

"Stop being so dramatic," she said with an eye roll, dipping her spoon into the tub and scooping up a bit of ice cream. "This is obviously just something he'd prefer not to involve you in."

I dropped my spoon in a frustrated manner. "I'd say I'm already pretty damn involved, Kats."

"Which is why I'm intervening, relax," she explained, tossing me a pointed look before turning her attention back to licking the ice cream off her spoon. I quieted down a bit in response—she was right. Besides, Katie was the type of person who took secrets to the grave, so going behind Wood's back to tell me whatever it was she was going to tell me was probably quite hard for her.

"Sorry," I muttered, picking my spoon back up and shoveling an obscene amount of ice cream onto it—honestly, who even needed blokes when there was Ben & Jerry's? Those were the two most reliable, loyal, uncomplicated men on the planet; they never let you down or kept secrets from you.

"So," Katie began after a long moment, swinging her stare up to me, "what _has_ he told you?"

"About Claire?" She nodded and I sighed. "Not very much. The little bit I know I've had to drag out of him, but as of now, I know that she was his little sister and she died when she was seven."

"Do you know how?" she ventured, and I shook my head, causing her gaze to drop to her lap. "That's what I figured."

A bout of wariness shot through me, causing my shoulders to tense a bit—that was never a good expression. "How… I mean, what exactly…" She was silent for a long moment, staring at her hands, and I stiffened. "Katie, what happ—"

"She was attacked by a werewolf," she finally interjected, voice small and quiet. "Ripped apart, really—I looked the case up after I found out about it, and it was… it just… the pictures…" her voice cracked in her throat, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. "I threw up after I saw them, I couldn't…"

I stared at her in shocked silence, my entire body having gone numb. It was stupid, but for the first time since I'd found out about Claire, I realized that she was a person. Not some abstract concept, but a real, living, breathing person—or at least, she had been. The horrifying reality of 'she died when she was seven' came crashing down on me like it hadn't before, and I was left unable to move. "How…" my voice was thick, "when did he…?"

"We were walking back from practice one day," she supplied weakly. "I was whinging about being an only child, and we got to talking about siblings, and he mentioned that he'd had a sister, but there'd been some sort of accident when he was ten. I didn't want to press him about it, but I was curious, so I looked her name up and found out that a werewolf attack had been involved." She looked down briefly, shaking her head. "I honestly should've left it at that, but when I got home for break, my dad's study was right there…"

I nodded quietly—Katie's father worked for the Ministry, and he specialized in werewolf attacks and rehabilitation. As a result, he had extensive files on all of the reported cases on hand, and clearly Claire Wood's was no exception.

"Anyway," Katie continued with a shaky sigh, "it was… awful, but that doesn't explain the relevance to you, I suppose." She bit down on her lip, aimlessly spinning her spoon in the now slightly soupy ice cream tub. "See, the thing about Claire is… well, to be honest, she was a lot like you." She glanced up to meet my eyes. "Impulsive, adventurous—very 'leap before you look', or at least that's what accounts of her said. Wood hinted at something similar when he was talking about her, mentioning that she accidentally lit their neighbor's house on fire once, but I didn't really connect her back to you until later."

I remained silent, staring at my spoon. I'd figured that something like that would be the case—he'd made it pretty clear by telling me that I remind him of her—but that still didn't really explain why he was so determined to be in control of everything all the time. His sister was risky, sure, but it wasn't like she'd died because of it. _Unless_… my heart clenched slightly. "There's more to this story, isn't there?"

Katie glanced down at her hands. "I don't know all the details, but from what I'd gathered from my dad's stuff, the two of them were playing outside when it happened. Their mum had gone inside for something and left Oliver in charge, and Claire somehow convinced him to sneak into the woods by their house or something. It might've been that she ran in and he followed her, I'm not really sure, but somehow or other, they ended up getting lost."

I ruminated over this for a few moments as Katie fell silent, slowly piecing the scenario together in my head—and then, in a moment of absolute shock, it struck me. "Wait," I managed to get out, my throat starting to close up in dawning comprehension, "you… you mean…"

She closed her eyes.

I couldn't speak for a moment, too horrified with the idea of being correct to voice the full question. When I finally found my voice, however, it was little more than a whisper. "He watched it happen?"

Her shaky nod said it all. "Every second."

My stomach clenched inside of me, bile rising in my throat. Werewolf attacks were vicious. They were savage, violent, and horribly bloody, and the idea of a seven-year-old girl… of seeing that… the carnage alone… tears pricked my eyes. "Oh, my God."

"It took me months just to get over the pictures," she said, hands trembling around her spoon. "I can't even imagine what… _Merlin_, he was ten years old, and… watching that happen, just…" she shuddered, blinking rapidly as her own eyes began to water, "it's just horrifying. I would've gone insane, living with that image, but the worst part is that he obviously blames himself."

I don't think I've ever felt pettier in my entire life than I did at that moment. It all made sense. It made so much sense that it hurt: his mum had left him in charge, he let her break the rules, and his sister… his sister ended up getting murdered, _ripped apart_, right before his eyes… "He was ten, what could he have done?" I whispered, voice hoarse with emotion, and Katie shrugged grimly.

"Nothing. But you really think that'll stop him from thinking it's all his fault? This is Oliver, Andy."

Merlin, every word I'd ever said to him—every snap, every insult, every argument… it all seemed so bloody _trivial_ now. So selfish and petty. A sharp image of the time we'd been locked in the broom closet sprang into my head, of the conflicted look on his face when I'd told him that one day, he'd encounter something that he had no control over, and he'd learn the hard way that life didn't always go according to his little plan…

"This," I breathed out shakily, closing my eyes and struggling to keep my emotions in check, "…is a lot to take in."

"Kind of changes your perspective on him, doesn't it?" she murmured after a moment, voice low and drawn, and I nodded silently. She glanced over and saw my expression, and her eyes softened. "You didn't know, Andy."

I shook my head. "That's no excuse for—"

"Of course it is," she interjected, turning to face me directly and putting her hand on my shoulder. "You didn't know and he didn't expect you to know—Merlin, I'm sure he doesn't want people walking on eggshells around him all the time, either." Her eyes were earnest as they stared into mine, expression gentle and reassuring. "You haven't done anything wrong, alright? I told you this because I saw you making all of these assumptions about each other and growing further and further apart, and it was really starting to affect you. I thought this might help you understand him better, but I don't want you to suddenly regret everything you've ever said to him, because then I've done you both a disservice."

I nodded half-heartedly, not really buying into what she was saying that much. I'd been a bitch. A self-centered, snippy, entitled sodding _bitch_. And yeah, sure, Wood wasn't always the most pleasant of people to me, but after what he'd gone through, who could blame him? Merlin, if he'd just _told_ me… if he'd even hinted, I would've never…

I sighed, dropping my forehead against hand. What's done was done. I couldn't take back the past and make it any easier on him, but I could affect the future, and the best way to go about that was obvious: end whatever was going on between us. Stay away from him as much as possible, let any and all non-platonic ideas go, and ignore the unresolved emotions until they went away.

If I cared about him at all, that was the least I could do. The idea of making him relive even a shred of his past for my own sake was disgusting, so my decision was clear, no qualms or hesitations: we were done. Just… done.

"Hey," Katie said, nudging my shoulder softly and snapping me out of my thoughts. Her expression was concerned. "Don't make me regret telling you this, alright? Promise me you're still going to try to make this work."

I gave her a watery smile. "I promise," I lied.

She looked skeptical, eyes running over my face. "I'm serious, Andy. If everything falls apart because you start avoiding him, I'll never forgive myself. In fact, I'll throw myself off the Astronomy Tower, and then sweet, innocent little Katie Bell's death will be on your shoulders," she teased, though my half-hearted smile caused her to slowly grab onto both of my shoulders, angle them toward her with a serious expression, and look me straight in the eyes. "You're not Claire," she said gently. "You might remind him of her, but you're not her. You're Andy, and he'll eventually see that. Just give him the chance to learn the difference."

I averted my eyes, knowing she'd see through me completely if I held her stare, and a long, heavy silence followed.

That is, of course, until the door all but exploded open. "_Laaaaadies_ and gentlemen, you are looking at the first official female Risk champion in Hogwarts history!" an obnoxiously loud voice sang, slurring a bit at the vowels, and within seconds, a decidedly tipsy Alicia Spinnet danced into view, wavering a bit before coming to a halt at the foot of Katie's bed. At our momentary silence, she flung both hands onto her hips, expression irritated. "This is the part where the 'crowd goes wild', hello?"

"Woo-hoo," a decidedly insincere voice cheered from the doorway, and I glanced over to see Angelina making her way into the room with a bored expression. "Can you sign my thong?"

Alicia rolled her eyes dramatically. "Just because _you_ hate Risk doesn't mean that this isn't a huge achievement, _Boring_-gelina."

Angelina snorted and glanced at us, gesturing at Alicia. "She's so witty when she's drunk." However, upon taking notice of our more serious expressions, her brow furrowed. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, it's fine," Katie said with a simple shrug, though her tone was dull.

Angelina arched a brow, switching her stare onto me. "Andy?"

"No problems here," I said in a similarly unconvincing fashion, causing her to cross her arms and hit us with the Prefect glare.

"Alicia," she called, not taking her eyes off us.

"What?" the blonde squawked, voice a bit muffled from the fact that she was currently in Downward Facing Dog.

"Can you stop your pseudo-yoga for a second and confirm that Andy and Kats are lying to my face?" Angelina asked, not even having to look to know what Alicia was doing.

"I'm mid-Sun Salutation, Angelina—I'm _busy_," Alicia snapped, moving into Plank.

"It's 2:30 in the morning—there's no sodding sun to salute."

"_Ugh_, fine," Alicia groaned, lifting herself up with a graceless shuffle and snapping her stare over to us. Her arms promptly crossed over her chest, mirroring Angelina's position. "What happened?"

I sighed. "Nothing, really, we're just ti—"

"Lee asked me out," Katie cut in, making all of our gazes snap over to hers.

"What?"

"What?"

"_What_?" All three of them turned to stare at me, brows furrowing, and I promptly realized I was already supposed to know this. "I mean, er, you haven't told them yet?"

"I haven't really had the chance," she admitted, rubbing the back of her neck. "It happened right before I walked into the common room, and that's when I heard you and Oliver fighting—"

"You had a row with Oliver?" Angelina asked, and I waved it off.

"I'm always in a row with Oliver—Kats, you should've said something," I said, feeling guilty about the fact that I drained the happiness out of her night with my own drama. Again, I got the slew of weird looks, and I promptly added, "…to them." I nodded and Angelina and Alicia.

They ignored me, taking instead to congratulating Katie and wrapping her in hugs, but she quickly fended them off. "Guys, guys—calm down, I said no."

"What?"

"What?"

"_What_?" This time I didn't even invent some sort of cover, nor did I need to—all focus was glued onto Katie.

"I just… said no," she supplied lamely, shoulders lifting into a small shrug, and Angelina's brow furrowed.

"I thought you fancied the pants off him, Kats."

"I did."

"So you don't anymore?" I asked, and Katie shook her head.

"No, I still do."

Alicia thrust her hands onto her hips in a dramatic pose. "I'm confused."

"Drunk is what you are," Angelina muttered, causing Alicia to squawk out in denial.

"Katie, seriously, what the hell?" I asked, ignoring Angelina and Alicia as they fell into a squabble. She simply shrugged again, keeping her stare evasive. "Are you going for a hard-to-get sort of thing, or—"

"No, no, nothing like that, I just…" her eyes veered off for a moment, dark and hesitant, before simply deflating and swinging back up to mine. "I just don't want to ruin it," she admitted rather defeatedly.

My brow furrowed. "Ruin what?"

Her gaze dropped again. "The fantasy."

"The fanta—" I halted then, a slow feeling of realization dawning over me. The fantasy. "Katie."

"I know," she groaned, burrowing her head into her hands.

So, here's the thing about Katie: she's simultaneously the realest and most delusional person you'll ever meet in your life. When it comes to people, academics, sports, etc., she's completely grounded: she doesn't exaggerate anything, she just calmly and mindfully tells it like it is. When it comes to love, however, she's a complete nutter.

She's always been a hopeless romantic, but she gives a whole new meaning to the 'hopeless' part. This is, quite simply, because what she falls in love with is the _idea_ of someone. She lives in her own little daydreaming world of Mr. Darcys and Heathcliffs, and she knows that no normal teenage bloke will ever hold a candle to them. Thus, she avoids the disappointment of finding that out by just fancying them from afar.

Is it healthy? No. Is it sane? Not really. Is it understandable for someone who has six copies of Pride and Prejudice stowed away in their trunk and idolizes Audrey Hepburn? Maybe—but that doesn't cancel out the other two 'is it's. The bottom line is that it keeps Kats from being happy, and seeing Katie sad is like seeing an abandoned golden retriever puppy sulk around a trashed alleyway, paw at an old chicken bone, and whimper for something to eat—it depresses the shit out of everyone.

Thus, I simply rubbed her back consolingly as she shook her head, hair obscuring her face. "Why am I so screwed up?"

"You're not screwed up, you're just… difficult."

She scoffed, head still buried in her hands. "Understatement of the century."

"Oi, it could be worse," I pointed out. "You could be Alicia."

We both glanced over at the tipsy blonde, who was currently in the process of shrieking the quadratic equation out the window. Katie snorted. "True."

A loud snore broke through the room and I glanced over my shoulder, unsurprised to see Angelina completely passed out on her four-poster. She had a habit of knocking out without any warning whatsoever, especially when there was alcohol in her system. I rolled my eyes, bringing them back over to Katie with a wry expression. "We should get some sleep."

"Yeah," she muttered, eyes still downcast and pensive.

"We'll feel better tomorrow," I promised rather half-heartedly, giving her shoulder a final squeeze before scrambling out of the mess of covers and pushing myself off her bed.

"Tomorrow! Tomorrow!" Alicia sang, dancing back in from the balcony with a whimsical air. "I love you, tomorrow!"

"Oh, I guarantee you won't love tomorrow," I muttered as I climbed into my own bed, thinking of the hangover she had in store for her, but she kept singing anyway as I pulled up my covers.

"You're only a day aaaaa—"

"Shut up!" Angelina yelled groggily, rising from the dead to toss her arm at her nightstand and grab her wand. "_Nox_," she growled, turning the lights off and leaving Alicia twirling in the middle of a dark room.

She sang for about twenty more seconds before tripping on a chair, landing in a heap of tangled limbs on the floor, and falling asleep in the exact same position she'd landed in. Angelina fell back asleep shortly afterwards, followed closely by Katie, which left me and my jumbled thoughts in brooding silence for quite a while.

It wasn't till the sun came up that my eyes finally closed.

* * *

By the time I strolled into the Great Hall for brunch, it was past noon. Thankfully, it was a holiday—Nearless Headless Nick's 150th Anniversary of Something Or Other—which meant everyone had the day off to recover from the Gryffindor party.

And, you know, other things.

I was still in a pretty horrible mood from last night's conversation, so naturally it was one of those obnoxiously gorgeous days where sunlight was pouring in through the giant windows and all the glass and silverware was sparkling in the dappled light. "Morning," I muttered as I slid into the seat across from Angelina, who was all fresh-faced and well-rested looking.

Bloody morning person.

"It's one P.M.," she pointed out.

Bloody afternoon person.

"Whatever," I grumbled, reaching over to the pancake plate and spearing two onto my fork.

"Sleep well?"

I dropped my hand, shooting her a dark look. "Do I look like I slept well?"

"You look like hell."

"Well, take that observation and extrapolate," I suggested irritably, resuming my pancake collecting process with a grumpy expression. I was tired, PMSing, and kind of hated myself—I was allowed to be a stroppy cow.

Angelina parted her mouth to respond, though the words promptly dissolved into a snort of laughter as she spotted something over my shoulder. I shoved a forkful of pancake into my mouth and glanced over with grouchy, glaring eyes, following her line of vision to the double doors.

Or, more specifically, the absurdly hung-over blonde in baggy sweatpants and a tank top from second year dragging herself through them with a look of absolute death plastered onto her face. "Good morning, Sunshine!" Angelina chirped as Alicia collapsed into the seat beside me, propped her elbows on the table, and dropped her head into her hands.

"Eat shit and die," was her muttered response.

"Want some thick, ketchup-drenched hash browns, a juicy, cheesy omelet and greasy bacon?" Angelina pressed on, voice obnoxiously perky, and Alicia's stifled a gag.

"I swear to God, Johnson," she growled, glaring up through her Albert Einstein style hair with a peaky expression, "the second I can make sudden movements without wanting to vomit out my pancreas, I'm going to jump you."

Angelina winked, taking a sip of her tea. "Looking forward to it, Risk Champion."

"I hate you so much."

"Sobriety is such a wonderful thing…"

"You're such a bitch."

"Nothing like a bright, happy, nausea-free morning…"

"Did I mention you should eat shit and die?"

"So many delicious breakfast choices to pick from…"

"Andy, can you stab her for me? I don't have the energy."

I rolled my eyes in response, not really in the mood for their aimless squabbling—Alicia and Angelina could go at it for hours. Thankfully, it was interrupted by the swooping sound of an owl flying overhead, and before I knew it, there was a note fluttering right into my pancakes. I reached over and picked it up, grimacing at the layer of syrup stuck to the bottom—were the bloody owls hung-over, too?—before opening it.

_Miss Wiles,_

_This is just a reminder that your banquet planning sessions with Mr. Wood will resume today—eight o'clock sharp in the Transfiguration room, as per usual. Be prompt and punctual, otherwise I will be prompt and punctual in giving you detention._

_Best,  
Professor McGonagall_

My eyes immediately shut, tortured groan rumbling from my throat. "Was I Hitler in a past life?"

Angelina shot me a quizzical look. "What'd the note say?" she asked.

"Report to the gallows at eight P.M. for beheading," I muttered in response. At her flat look, I handed it over to her, watching as her eyes narrowed, scanned, and then lifted back to mine.

"You two still in a row?"

"When are we ever not in a row?"

"Fair point," she mused, chewing on her lip for a moment. "Well, he was pretty smashed last night—perhaps he doesn't remember."

I scoffed. "Doubtful. Besides, he'd probably just assume he was mad at me anyway—it's a statistically sound guess."

"Would you two _please_ stop yelling?" Alicia groaned, moving her hands to cover her ears, and Angelina immediately rolled her eyes.

"We're talking at a perfectly normal volume, Spinnet. _THIS_," she suddenly roared, cupping her hands around her mouth, "IS YELLING! SEE THE DIFFERENCE? I CAN DO IT AGAIN, IF YOU'RE STILL CONFU—oh, hey, Gabe." She smiled pleasantly, eyes the very picture of innocent.

I glanced over my shoulder to see a rather amused and damp-looking Gabriel Harris standing behind our chairs, one hand on the back of mine, one on the back of Alicia's. "'Lo, Angelina. You're looking decidedly chipper this morning."

She shrugged. "Beautiful day, is all."

"Definitely—have you checked out the lake?"

"No, why?"

"The ice melted."

"No way!"

"Yep—people are going sailing later."

"That's brilliant!"

"Yeah, now maybe you two can go drown yourselves in it," Alicia said in a falsely cheery voice, rubbing her temples with considerable ire.

"Alicia Spinnet, just the sugary girl I was looking for," he announced, clasping a hand over her shoulder before adopting a frighteningly serious expression. "The general public is dying to know: how does it feel to be the first female Risk champion in the history of Hogwarts?"

"Like reheated shit."

Gabe's mouth lopsided. "Can I quote you on that?"

"Sure. You can quote me on 'go fuck yourself', too."

His eyes swung over to mine, languorously amused. "She's worse than you in the mornings."

"She doesn't do well with hangovers."

"She doesn't do well with a lot of things," Angelina tossed in.

"_She _is sitting right bloody here," Alicia growled, raising her head to glare at us all, though her eyes momentarily caught on Gabe. "Why are you wet?"

"Went for a swim earlier," he supplied easily.

"Ever heard of a crazy thing called hypothermia?"

"Ever heard of a crazy thing called a heating charm?"

The two held each other's stare for a moment, Alicia's slitted and Gabe's entirely unruffled, before she simply looked away and scoffed, "Whatever, it's still a stupid idea."

"Alicia would know," Angelina advised, nodding casually. "She's the authority on stupid ideas."

"Would you just fall off a cliff or something?"

"Sure, let me go find one in the middle of a castle."

"Go die."

"Go get a new insult."

"Go polish your Prefect badge."

"Go pretend you know yoga."

"Go—"

"Can I interject for just a moment?" Gabe cut in, holding a hand up. "Sorry, I just feel like that conversation could go on for a while."

"Word," I muttered, causing Alicia to shoot me a glare before switching it over to Gabe.

"What is it?" she snapped.

"Oh, nothing, just that you have an interview in fifteen minutes."

Her face tensed a bit. "An interview with who?"

"Aiden."

"Aiden _Krowlewitz_?"

"The one and only."

She stared at Gabe with wide, angry blue eyes, her expression comically incensed. "You're telling me this _now_?"

Gabe merely smirked breezily, causing me to raise an eyebrow. Aiden Krowlewitz was the other chief editor of the _Weekly Wobbler_, and he was pretty much the exact opposite of Gabe: rule-obsessed, straight-laced, and bossy to the point of fascist. He was as surly as they came, and could often be seen barking orders at his frenzied staff in as patronizing and unpleasant a tone as possible.

The fact that a very much hung-over Alicia, who was tactless as a mother to begin with and was currently sporting ratty old sweatpants, had an interview with him in fifteen minutes was… well, hilarious, to be honest.

"He wants to size you up a bit before letting you on the staff—standard procedure," Gabe supplied as an explanation, looking totally at ease.

"I could seriously kill you right now."

"Your might want to brush your hair instead."

"Andy, why the bloody hell are you friends with this kid?" Alicia snapped, starting to get overwhelmed as she frantically gathered up her stuff.

"We were both too lazy to move in Arithmancy," I responded idly, to which Gabe shrugged.

"Basically."

"Well, next time, suck it up and move anyway!" she cried, causing me to swing my stare over to Gabe.

"Does she realize that you have authority over Aiden?"

"Don't think so, no."

"This is so unprofessional!" she rattled on, swinging her bag over her shoulder and downing a random cup of coffee before straightening out. "I'm going to go change—_you_," she snapped, swiveling around to face Gabe directly and shoving a finger in his face, "are a git."

His lips curled at the corners, morphing into their trademark crooked grin. "But I'm a _charming_ git."

She scoffed. "More like a—"

"You're down to thirteen minutes, love."

Her lips pressed together in a flustered purse, bleary eyes taking on a frustrated look as she held his stare. Then, after a solid ten seconds of glaring, she merely swiveled about, bag swinging furiously around her hips, and stormed out of the Great Hall.

My brows rose slightly: that was the second time in twenty-four hours that Gabe had managed to leave Alicia speechless. I shot a furtive look at Angelina, who was assessing Gabe with a curious look in her eyes.

She was clearly thinking the same thing I was: _interesting_.

"She's certainly a ray of sunshine," Gabe commented casually, flitting his gaze back over to Angelina and me. Upon spotting the plotting looks on our faces, however, his brow furrowed. "What?"

"Nothing, just zoning, sorry," Angelina covered, waving an errant hand, though the calculative glimmer didn't quite diffuse from her eyes. His gaze switched over to mine curiously, and I merely shrugged.

"Okay… well, I'm going to go sit at the People Who Don't Act Like Escaped Convicts table – see you lot later."

"Bye, Harris."

"Later, Andy." And with that, he swiveled about and walked over to his crowd of fellow seventh years, greeting them with a lopsided grin and something that made them all burst out laughing. My eyes immediately sought Angelina's.

"Don't jump the gun," she warned.

"I'm not jumping anything, I'm just observing."

"Alicia's weird, Andy."

"She's not _that_ weird."

"I woke up to her screaming out prime numbers in her sleep once."

I faltered for a moment. "Okay, so she's weird, but I think he can handle it."

"I dunno."

"It's just an idea."

Angelina sighed. "Whatever, just don't tell Kats."

I frowned. "Why not?"

"Because she'll get obsessed with the idea and do that thing she does," she explained, adding a bit more honey to her tea. "You know, where she makes it her life's mission to get unlikely people together and acts like the world's going to end if it doesn't happen?"

I smirked. "You mean like, oh, I don't know, you and Fred?"

She shot me a light glare. "More like, oh, I don't know, you and Oliver?"

My stomach twisted instantly, the humor fading from my expression as my eyes averted. "Yeah, well that one's not going to happen, but hey—one out of two ain't bad."

Her eyes softened a bit as they took in my expression, merely staring at me for a few seconds. "Did something else happen last night?" she finally ventured.

Defensiveness instantly shot through me. "What do you mean?"

"This fight of yours…"

"It was the same old, same old," I cut in, shrugging as convincingly as I could. "I asked questions, he evaded them, insert explosion here."

"And that's what has you all dark and twisty?"

I shot her an annoyed look. "I'm just tired of it, that's all."

She looked skeptical. "Sure."

"No, really."

She rolled her eyes, parting her mouth to protest, but a pair of arms wrapped around her shoulders before she could say anything, effectively cutting her off. "Morning, beautiful," Fred murmured into her ear, planting a light kiss on the tip of her earlobe.

"Morning," she replied with a smitten smile.

Oh, what, so all of a sudden it wasn't one P.M. anymore? Chit.

"Andy, you're looking homicidal, as always," Fred said with a smirk, causing me to shoot him a glare.

"Hey, Fred, remember that time back in fifth year when you stole all of Angelina's underwear and convinced us to tell her it was Peeves because otherwise she'd dismember you?" I asked in a falsely pleasant voice, satisfied with the way his face paled. "Those were good times. Anyway, I'd best be off."

I stood up in a calm, lazy manner, gathering up my stuff and acting blissfully unaware of the sudden rift I'd just caused between the happy couple. "That was _you_?" I heard Angelina hiss, her voice lowered into the one she used when she was about to explode, and I merely swiveled about with a smile.

"Bye, guys!"

You don't mess with PMS.

* * *

It's amazing how quickly time flies by you when you're completely and totally dreading something. The day went by in what felt like a few hours, turning the hour hand on the clock from a one to an eight before I could so much as blink properly. I'd told myself I was going to get a lot things done before my meeting—Potions essay, laundry, reorganize my trunk, etc.—but somehow, here I was, standing outside the Transfiguration room with not a single productive achievement to my name.

Funny how dread can do that to you.

"Pull it together, Team Andy," I muttered to myself as I reached for the doorknob, pausing to take in a deep breath. I hadn't seen Wood since my perspective shattering talk with Katie, and I honestly couldn't predict how I'd react to the sight of him—would I feel guilty? Sad? Irritated? Nothing?

Only one way to find out.

Exhaling slowly, I pushed the door open, taking a few steps in before jerking to a swift and sudden halt. And then I burst out laughing.

There, sitting at a table in the center of the room, hair in complete disarray and eyes entirely bloodshot, was possibly the most hung-over looking person I'd ever seen in my life. Wood was in a right _state_. His face was in desperate need of a shave, dark scruff shadowing the length of his jaw and contrasting starkly with the sickly pallor of his skin. His eyes were ringed with dark, exhausted circles, and his stare had a flat look about it that clearly stated 'I hate my life.'

He was collapsed into his chair with a miserable air, his chin slumped against his propped up hand in an unflattering way that scrunched the side of his face up. He was clad in a ratty gray T-shirt that was probably white once upon a time and a moth-eaten pair of flannel pajama pants that were far too short for his legs. I'd seen a lot of hung-over people today, but Wood was by _far_ the worst.

He looked like he had the freaking flu.

"You alri—?"

"_Jesus_," he moaned, wincing as he held up a hand. "Not so loud."

I bit down on my lip, struggling to fight back my bubbling laughter—he looked freaking _hilarious_. "Sorry," I stage whispered, walking over and slipping into the chair across from him.

"Don't worry about it," he mumbled, bringing his hand back to his face and shielding it from the light. Merlin, he made Alicia look like a spry little unicorn.

"Headache, I take it?" I ventured, and he nodded slowly, moving his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Feels like someone split my bloody head in half," he replied, his voice throaty. "At least the room stopped spinning a few hours ago."

"Well, that's what happens when you drink Firewhiskey like it's water," I told him, causing him to wince yet again.

"Let's avoid the word Firewhiskey for a bit, yeah?"

I arched a brow, satisfaction flooding my expression. "Risk doesn't sound like a such a smart idea anymore, does it?"

Realization slowly suffused his face. "Bloody hell, I played Risk last night." He seemed genuinely surprised, and my brow furrowed.

"You don't remember?"

He snorted. "Everything's a bit of a blur, to be honest."

My eyes darkened—did he remember our fight? Our kiss? Anything? "Do you remember anything after that?"

The seriousness of my tone must've registered with him, for his eyes swept up and caught mine. "Not really, no."

I held his stare as evenly as I could, trying to act casual. "Oh."

His eyes narrowed a bit at the corners. "Wiles, if I did anything—"

"No, no, it's not that, it's just—" I cut off suddenly, struck by an idea. He didn't remember anything. I needed a way to end whatever it was we had going on without telling him I knew about Claire. My eyes snapped up after a moment, bright and impulsive. "It's just that we figured it all out."

His brow immediately furrowed. "Figured what out?"

"This… you know, thing we have going on," I improvised, motioning between us with my hand. I honestly had no idea what I was saying. "We talked it out and finally came to a conclusion."

He was eyeing me closely, trying to follow my words. "How… diplomatic of us."

I nodded eagerly. "Yeah, super diplomatic. We were like the UN, it was crazy."

His brows gathered a bit, eyes taking in my slightly anxious behavior with kindling suspicion. "So… what did we end up figuring out?" he asked after a moment.

"Just friends," I replied.

And it was at that exact moment that the weight of the words actually hit me. Just friends. Just… friends? Were we even friends to begin with? Not really. So if we took out whatever weird romantic developments had transpired over the past few weeks, what were we left with, really?

Nothing.

This spurred a swell of emotion within me—I didn't want bloody nothing, damn it, what the hell was I doing?—but then my mind closed in on the flourish of a name that changed everything. Merlin, it was so easy to forget about Claire. I'd had the same image of Wood for the past sixteen years; seeing him differently all of a sudden was going to take some getting used to.

Although, there were moments when his past showed clearly on his face. That night in the broom closet, if for only a second, his mask had cracked—the sharp lines and stubborn angles faded into the face of a pained, broken older brother struggling not to hate himself. So perhaps it wouldn't take as much work as I thought.

I mean, most of the time he was just Wood: patronizing, stubborn, and entirely too in love with his precious game book. But sometimes, glimmers of the shattered person hiding underneath shone through. And they were as striking a reminder as any. Thus, it was with this renewed conviction that I glanced up and met his gaze, my eyes now far more serious than they were before.

His, however, were amused. "Friends?" At my careful nod, the beginnings of a sardonic smile tilted up the left corner of his mouth. "Wouldn't that require having been friends to begin with?"

He wasn't taking it seriously. I couldn't blame him, honestly—how many times had we fought, sworn each other off, and then ended up snogging anyway these past few weeks? "I'm serious, Wood."

He shrugged. "Fine—friends, then." His tone was casual, light.

"Are you sure you understand what that entails?"

He snorted. "You mean for most people, or for me and you?"

My eyes flattened. "There is no me and you—that's kind of the whole point."

"Right, sorry," he replied distractedly, rubbing his temple to assuage his headache. "Me, you, separate—got it."

I stared at him darkly: he still didn't believe me. Whatever. Nothing I could really do about it now—he was in one of those flippant moods. "Fine, well let's just move on to this banquet, then," I said, changing the subject for lack of a better option and plucking up my quill.

"Let the fun begin," he drawled, moving his hand down to his neck and massaging the muscles there. I averted my eyes quickly, struck by the memory of the time I'd given him a massage in the broom closet—my fingers were already itching to slap his away and take over. He was apparently having a similar train of thought, for he glanced at my hands with an unfurling grin. "Oi, any chance you'd give me another—"

"No," I said immediately, my tone void of any humor, and the severity of it drew his eyes back up to mine. His grin dissipated at the stone cold look on my face, brows lowering into a slightly more serious expression—I was beginning to get through to him. "Now, about this banquet," I said in a clipped, business-like tone, fluidly changing the topic, "are we still planning on upping the ante or are we just aiming for the status quo?"

I felt his eyes on me, studying my face with an observant frown, but I fought back the heat creeping up my neck and kept my eyes on the parchment before me. A few moments of silence went by until he responded, but it wasn't at all what I was expecting. "Tell me more about the talk we had last night."

My eyes flew up to his. "What?"

"What exactly did we both say?"

I felt myself faltering a bit under the sudden intensity of his gaze, but I forced myself to remain collected on the outside. "I already told you, we just—"

"Figured it all out, yeah, but what spurred it? How long were we talking for, what exactly were the reasons, where did it happen?" At my baffled look, he shrugged unapologetically. "If I'm going to take this seriously, Wiles, I need to know the details."

"No, that's fine, I understand that," I said, "but I'd appreciate it if you could switch off of CSI mode."

"CSI what?"

"Muggle reference, forget it," I muttered, waving a hand dismissively. "What spurred it was…" I racked my brain for something brilliant and wildly creative and ended up with the truth. "Well, basically, when I was walking you back to your room, you were angry at me—"

"Why?" he cut in, and I shot him a dark look.

"As if you need a reason." The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them, and I instantly felt guilty. Merlin, just last night I'd wanted to take back every petty thing I'd ever snapped at him, and here I was the very next day, snapping at him again. "Sorry, I don't really remember—probably a mixture of a lot of things."

He raised a brow at my apology, but didn't comment. "Alright, so I was angry—then what?"

"Then we were arguing about something—you were pretty drunk, so you really weren't making much sense—and then…" my skin bristled—then he kissed me. Slow, scalding, and rough, pinned against a wall, tasting of smoke and Firewhiskey, hands skirting down my waist… "Look, this is stupid, what's important is what we talked about," I said hastily, pushing a hand through my hair.

His expression was steady. "Which was?"

Improvisation time. "How much easier it would be if we stopped whatever weird thing was going on between us," I said, struggling not to bite my lip. "I mean, first of all, there's the Quidditch issue—look what happened during the Slytherin match. Viper knew he could use me to draw a reaction from you."

He nodded quietly but looked rather unconvinced. "Go on."

"And then, you know, there's the fact that we seem to fight more than we agree, which I'm guessing could be potentially destructive in a relationship," I threw out rather randomly, figuring it was worth mentioning. "And there's also the fact that, when it comes down to it, we really don't know each other that well. We seem to know what we don't like about each other, but whatever thing is causing… well, _this_," I waved my hand back and forth between us, "is kind of elusive."

He merely kept quiet, eyes steadily trained on mine.

It made me a bit anxious, which is probably why I blurted out, "And then there's all the unresolved stuff going on with you." His stare instantly flickered with something, but the action was too brief for me to decipher the emotion, leaving behind nothing more than the same dark amber stare. "You…" how was I supposed to put this? "…have a lot of things going on in your life that are closed off, and I understand that. I also get that they complicate the way you see me. I don't know why, exactly," I lied, "but I don't have to. I'm not your girlfriend, you don't owe me any explanations."

Now he looked totally inscrutable, his brow lowered into one of the deepest frowns I'd seen on him yet. It was a strange frown, though—not quite angry, not quite confused, not quite brooding, just… guarded. I took it as a warning sign and maneuvered off the topic, shrugging to break some of the tension. "I'm sure there were other reasons, too, but those were the main ones. It was a good discussion—it ended on a happy note." It took a lot of effort for me to force a smile, though not as much as it took for me to get out the last few words: "I'm honestly just glad it's all over."

Done.

He stayed silent for a long moment, the only sound in the room the loud ticking of the clock on the wall. I held my smile as long as I could, knowing he'd see through it if I broke it too soon, though it was difficult to make it look sincere. The last thing I was feeling was happy. Finally, after what felt like hours, he glanced away, breaking the stare. "Sounds pretty thorough to me."

"Yeah?" I said casually, though my insides felt like lead.

"Yeah," he agreed, eyes once again meeting mine. It was hard to ignore the jolt they triggered. "It's a smart decision—I agree with it."

I know that shouldn't have felt like such a slap in the face, but it did. Realizing you needed to end something was one thing—actually watching it end was another entirely. Part of me wanted him to dissect every reason I'd just given him and dispel it, make it seem stupid, tell me there were ways around it—anything. But the other part of me knew that'd only make it harder. "So…" I felt my voice thickening, and I swallowed hastily to clear it, "just friends, then?"

He waited a beat, giving my face a long, hard once-over that had my stomach flipping and turning like crazy, before nodding stiffly. "Just friends."

Bam. Just like that. Over.

"Then that's that," I said with a shaky smile, hastily putting my hair into a messy bun to distract myself in some way or another. If I sat there and dwelled, I'd probably start crying or something equally estrogen-y and embarrassing, and that would just suck. God, Wood had turned me into such a freaking girl. "So about this banquet…"

"Upping the ante."

The words were quick and decisive, and they surprised me enough to shake me out of my sappy moment. "Sorry?" I said.

"You asked before whether we were upping the ante or sticking with the status quo for the banquet, and my answer's upping the ante," he replied, his tone all-business, and I realized that's how I must've sounded earlier. "There's no reason to sit around and waste time planning something that's going to be terrible, so I think we should just scrap all precedent and start from scratch."

His eyes were still clouded, but I could see the familiar glimmer of OCD beginning to filter through them. It was the same look he got whenever he was strategizing for a tough Quidditch match but he only had a limited number of plays to work with: bright, obsessive, calculative, and stubborn. "Wood, this isn't Quidditch," I informed him, brows drawn. "It's not like someone just handed you a shoddy team and you want to make them champions—this is something neither of us have any experience in."

"Yeah, well I know for a fact that I can't sit here for nine hours a week planning rubbish when there are six thousand other things I need to be doing, so I'd prefer to make it better," he said irritably, and for the first time in my life, I realized how much of a perfectionist he actually was. I mean with Quidditch I obviously knew, but I'd never really seen him in any other context, so I just assumed it was a sports-specific thing. Now, however, here he was, advocating making the Gryffindor banquet—possibly the last thing that would ever make his list of interests—a success.

It was weird.

"So in the case of go big or go home, we're going…?"

He gaze snapped up to mine, response immediate. "Big."

"How big?"

"Huge."

"How huge?"

"_Massive_."

Okay, so I'm not normally the type to find stubborn ambition sexy, but damn, I totally—_shut the fuck up_! I shook my head quickly, reminding myself that we'd just had a pseudo-break-up like ten freaking seconds ago—my hormones needed to calm the hell down, _Jesus_. "That's probably going to require a lot more work than just letting is suck."

He shrugged. "Putting together something shitty would be harder for me than putting together something worthwhile."

"Humble, are we?"

"That's not how I meant it."

I rolled my eyes, internally amazed at how violently my emotions could change—I was on the verge of tears a minute ago. "I know what you meant, you just sound like a preacher right now."

"Yeah, I'm sure preachers use the word 'shitty' all the time." Without thinking, I grabbed my quill and irritably flung it at him, and similarly without thinking, he reached up and caught it. "Seriously? I'm a Keeper, Wiles."

I feigned confusion. "Is that the word for you? Merlin, silly me: here I was, thinking it was 'prat'." I shrugged airily. "Now I know." I couldn't quite hold back a smirk as he scowled, running a hand over his aggrieved features.

"I'm too bloody hungover for this…"

"Sore loser."

He dropped his hand, looking like he was about to protest, but then caught the determined sparkle in my gaze and simply rolled his eyes. Nothing like banter to snap me out of a strop. "Whatever. Moving back onto this banquet… ideas on improvements?"

I leaned back into my seat, crossing my arms and settling down into my contemplative mode. Banquet improvements… banquet improvements… I repeated those words in my head for a solid five minutes before sighing exasperatedly. "I think 'improvements' is the wrong way to think about this."

He raised a brow. "How so?"

"Well, you mentioned something earlier about scrapping precedent and starting from scratch, and I think you were onto something," I said, leaning forward a bit in my seat. "When I think 'banquet improvements', I think of the banquets we've had in the past and ways to disguise how mind-numbingly boring they were. So maybe we should start with redefining what the banquet's supposed to be… and then move on from there?"

He mulled over the words for a moment before shrugging. "It's worth a try." He reached over and grabbed a roll of parchment off McGonagall's desk, and I tried not to flush as remnants of my racy dream from the Hospital Wing assaulted me—that desk and I had severe issues to work out. "Alright, so," he began, scribbling 'What is the Gryffindor Banquet?' at the top of the page in his tight, efficient scrawl and underlining it sharply, "redefine." He glanced up at me expectantly.

I faltered, not expecting the sudden spotlight. "Uh…" His eyes flattened and I scowled. "You know, I said 'we', not 'I'—it's not like one person should decide for an entire house."

He parted his mouth to respond but then closed it suddenly, eyes narrowing in thought. He'd either had a revelation or an aneurism. "You're completely right," he concluded. Guess it was the aneurism. "One person, or two for that matter, shouldn't decide for an entire house."

I was lost for a moment or two, but then it hit me. "You want to ask the Gryffindors?"

He leaned forward calculatingly. "Think about it—one of the main problems with the banquet is that no one's excited about it. They're detached, they had no part in it, it seems like this boring thing planned by senile professors—" a nearby portrait of a former Transfiguration professor squawked in outrage, "—that everyone's forced to go to. _But_, if we send out a survey asking the actual students what they want the banquet to be like…"

He trailed off knowingly and I picked up where he left off. "They'll feel vested."

"Exactly."

I sat back once again in my seat and bit my lip. "That could work."

"It's definitely a start."

I met his gaze for a moment before averting it yet again, falling into thought. It was a great idea, definitely worth considering, but that wasn't what I was thinking about anymore. I was thinking about the fact that, even with our whole thing ended, we weren't suddenly becoming distant. In fact, I'd learned something new about him—he was a perfectionist about everything, not just Quidditch.

It was a good thing, I suppose, to start seeing him as a bit more of a human and a bit less of a stereotype, though it didn't really go with my 'remove him from your life' plan. I had to do that slowly, though—it's not like it would happen overnight. Right now, I had to focus on the banquet. I'd do the whole distancing from him thing later.

Besides, Wood and I naturally repel. The more we find out about each other, the easier it'll be to grow apart. Exhibit A: the whole perfectionist thing is annoying. I mean, yeah, the ambition aspect is kind of attractive, but overall, dealing with that would be totally exhausting…

Right?

Right.

_Definitely_. Although—

"I think this might work out," Wood's voice interjected, cutting right through my thoughts, and I glanced up to see him looking considerably less annoyed than he'd been looking earlier. "This whole planning thing, I mean. It's still a bitch and a half and cuts into Quidditch practice, but so far, overall, it's not that horrible." I shrugged, parting my mouth to say something, but he went on to say, "And the whole 'just friends' thing definitely makes it easier…"

My mouth closed instantly, forming instead into a blindingly fake smile.

"Good decision on that, by the way—and sorry I was being difficult earlier," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just found it hard to take seriously at first, since I really didn't remember…"

"Don't worry about it," I said, serial killer smile still in place. "I would've been skeptical, too. Merlin, how many times have we yelled at each other and then—"

"—ended up snogging?" he said with a low chuckle, raising his eyes to meet mine, and my smile faltered.

"Right."

His smile dissipated slowly, eyes taking on a darker hue as they took in the strained lines of my face. Heat instantly crept up my neck as I watched them sweep over my features, brushing past my eyes and nose before fluttering to a slow and quiet halt on my mouth. Electricity immediately jolted through me, spurring me into action as I scrambled to my feet. "It's late," I said hastily—it'd only been half an hour. "We should go."

I quickly began gathering my books, stuffing them into my bag in a rather haphazard manner and trying to ignore the fact that he was still staring at me. _Look away, damn it—what the hell do you want from me?_ Anxious and rather frustrated, I reached over to grab my quill and promptly realized that he still had it from when I'd thrown it at him. Brilliant. Add 'new quill' to my Hogsmeade list.

"Bye, Wood," I said hastily, knowing that if I slowed down at all, I'd lose my resolve, but he clearly had other plans, for the moment I'd swiveled about to leave, he'd grabbed my wrist.

"Wait a second."

My eyes shut immediately, silent curse sweeping through my brain. _Resistance_, I told myself. _Self-restraint. This is more important than your stupid libido. _That mantra said, I took a deep breath and wheeled around, plastering a smile on my face. "Yes?"

He frowned at my fake expression. "You forgot your quill."

I glanced down at his hand—he was holding my quill out. "Oh," I said completely unconvincingly, taking it from him. "Thanks—I must've forgotten."

"Yeah, I could tell by the way you reached for it earlier and then changed your mind," he said dryly, making my face heat a bit. Busted. Wonderful.

"About that… I, er…"

"I get it, Wiles, you don't have to lie," he said, tone a bit irritated. "If we're going to make this whole friend things work, we can't… well, do what I just did, so I'm sorry."

My eyes rose up to his—that was surprisingly honest of him. "Apology accepted. Glad we're on the same page. But I still think I should go now, so goodnight." I smiled hastily before making to turn around, but his hand caught my wrist again.

"One last—" I swiveled about at the same time that he pulled me around, me not expecting him to pull and him not expecting me to turn, resulting in the two of us pressed up against each other in far more intimate a position than either of us intended, "—thing," he finished in a surprised, throaty voice, his breath fluttering against my skin.

This was not okay.

This was not okay.

This was _not_ fucking okay.

Tension instantly skyrocketed around us, shooting up the walls and spiraling around our pinned frames, causing every nerve in my body to vibrate with adrenaline. His gaze was dark and hazy as it held mine, his mouth mere inches from my own, and the familiar, unbearable heat that only he seemed able to provoke in me was starting to course through my veins.

Pull it together, Team Andy. Resistance. Self-restraint. Resolve. Eyes. Toasted amber. Hot breath. Mouth. Inches. _Resistance. Self-fucking-restraint. Resolve. Eyes. Mouth. Moving. Closer. Fuck_—!

"Goodnight, Oliver," I heard a voice frighteningly similar my own say just as his lips were about to touch mine, and, in what I can only describe as a moment of divine intervention, I pushed him away. He moved back freely, not even bothering with putting up any resistance as I averted my gaze, slung my dropped bag over my shoulder, and hurried toward the door.

"Goodnight," he replied just as I was pushing the it open, his voice quiet and terse, and I knew that he was saying it to more than just me.

_Ladies and gentlemen, the romantic rollercoaster of Wood and Wiles is officially over,_ I thought bitterly as I left the room, letting the door clatter to a dull close behind me._We hope you enjoyed the show—exits are located in the back left, right beside the coat check. Please depart in an orderly fashion, and as always…_

I swallowed thickly, fighting back the urge to break down in the middle of the hallway.

_Goodnight._


	21. The Art of Losing Isn't Hard to Master

**Settling the Score**

The Art of Losing Isn't Hard to Master

"You stir in the Snareroot _after_ the Essence of Clover!"

"Since _when_?"

"Since always!"

"That's straight bollocks—last time it was reversed!"

"False! It's always been this way!"

"It's always been that way if you've always been _wrong_!"

So, here's the thing about partnering two Potions whizzes together for an assignment: they argue the bloody shit out of everything. One claims to know a shortcut, the other claims it would make the cauldron bubble over; one claims it should be two stirs, the other claims it should be two and a _quarter_; one claims you add the Snareroot after the Essence of Clover, the other claims it's straight bollocks.

"Fine, whatever, go ahead and ruin it—see if I care."

Kats and I shot each other wry glances as Angelina slumped back into the seat in front of us with a scowl, watching as Alicia plucked up the bottle of Snareroot and measured its contents out. "Thank you for being my partner," Katie muttered under her breath, angling another glance at the competitively feuding pair in front of us and shaking her head.

"N_ooo_ problem," I said back, equally content with the situation: Potions was most definitely not my forte. Katie and I were completely lost in the subject whereas Alicia and Angelina were at the top of the class, thus our choice in partners. It actually worked out really well for all of us, since Kats and I had a very unique perspective on the class—we saw it as 'chat idly and vaguely follow the directions' time. Occasionally (read: often) our cauldron ended up exploding, but hey, life's all about priorities.

"So now we're supposed to add…" Katie squinted at her Potions book, absently stirring the cauldron without any regard whatsoever for the strict 'stir for twelve and a quarter turns' stipulation, "…er… something."

I glanced down at the ingredients we had yet to use: powdered Snareroot, Essence of Juniper, Hungarian Horntail scales, and Grindylwood Fern sap. Well. It had to be one of them, didn't it? "Eenie, meenie, minee—"

"_Miss_ Wiles," the dry, caustic voice of Professor Snape cut in, slicing right through my song. Great, now I'd have to start over. "The girl who blows things up. I'm curious," he drawled, voice velvet with mockery, "has it ever crossed your feeble little Gryffindor mind that perhaps Eenie Meenie Minee Moe is _not_ the most effective means of choosing the proper ingredient?" He was looming over our lab table now, having come up behind us in a self-important swish of billowing black robes.

My eyes flattened in poorly concealed annoyance. "Sorry, Professor. Won't happen again."

He rolled his eyes in a languorous motion. "For some frivolous reason, I doubt that."

I waited until he'd swooped off to harass some other unsuspecting student before returning my gaze to the ingredients. "Right, so: Eenie, meenie, minee, moe…" I carried on with my little jingle until it was over, leaving me with my finger pointed at a small, purple vial. "Essence of Juniper it is!"

"Brilliant—how many teaspoons?" Katie asked, reaching for the vial and grabbing it.

I shrugged. "Pick a number between one and ten."

"Okay, it's in my head."

"Is it… three?"

"Nope."

"Six?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Four?"

"Yea—"

"_No_," a distinctly dry and un-Katie-like voice interjected from behind us, and my eyes flattened yet again—Snape really needed to get a hobby. "This," he drawled, pale hand flashing out from his robes and snatching the vial from Katie, "is an _essence_, Miss Bell." He held it up and stared at us like we were lobotomized cattle. "_Essences_ are measured in dashes, not teaspoons, as any inbred mountain troll would likely be able to tell you."

Kats and I shared dark, resigned looks.

"What's more," he continued in his typically condescending fashion, setting down the vial and plucking up a small box of Snareroot instead, "you're supposed to be adding powdered Snareroot to your draught, not Essence of Juniper. I'd inform you both as to the proper amount, but given the present state of your brew..." he trailed off, shooting a long, acidic glance at our cauldron before slowly meeting our gazes, "I doubt it'd make a shed of difference."

I rolled my eyes briefly, hoping he wouldn't see the gesture, though the slight stiffening of his frame indicated otherwise. "Miss Wiles." _Bollocks_. "I'm thinking of a number between one and ten… care to guess what it is?"

His mocking smile made my nose twitch in irritation. "Er… not really."

It grew cold. "Try."

"Three," I threw out randomly.

"No."

"Six?"

"No."

"Nine?"

"I'll give you a hint: it ends in 'points from Gryffindor'."

My eyes flattened into a glower. "Five."

"Very good," he said in an acidic voice, face morphing into a scowl. "Now get back to work, and if I so much as hear a _whisper_ of the words 'eenie', 'meenie', 'minee', or 'moe' out of either of you, I will see to it that you're cleaning out the Potions cabinets every other day until you graduate." He shot us a skeptical look. "_If_ you graduate."

And with that, he was off. Lovely man, that Snape. So robust and festive.

"He has to be the singularly most unpleasant person I've ever met," Katie grumbled, staring off after him with an annoyed look.

"Too right," I muttered, shaking my head, though my gaze promptly caught on the dark, sullen pair of eyes that'd been glaring at me from across the room for the past hour._Speaking of unpleasant people_, I thought, morphing my face into a 'what the hell is your problem?' look that caused Lee to simply scoff irritably and glance away.

Ever since Katie had rejected him he'd been acting like an absolute git to me. At first, I tolerated it—after all, I'd been the one that'd sprung the whole 'date Kats!' idea on him in the first place. Now, however, it was just ridiculous. Four days had gone by—_four_. And it's not like I'd lied to him or intentionally led him down some path of romantic doom; I'd just told him the truth!

He needed to man up and get over it. Life's tough.

"Vengeful git," I muttered darkly, causing Katie to hold up a vial of Grindylwood sap in toast.

"Here, here."

"No, not Snape," I corrected in a grumble, though he certainly fit the title as well, "Lee."

Katie immediately dropped the vial in her hand, spilling its contents all over our lab table. "Oh, Merlin, sorry!" she fretted, fumbling about for her wand to clean up the spill, though her cheeks were burning bright crimson. "God, why am I so clumsy?" I rolled my eyes—oh, sure. Act like that was purely coincidental.

Stupid girl.

I chanced a glance over in Lee's direction and, sure enough, he was staring at Katie with a dark, frustrated expression. His stare promptly shifted over to mine, however, and narrowed into a bitter glare. God, who knew that underneath all the goofy smiles and witty remarks, Lee was a petty, grudge-holding, melodramatic _girl_? I'd honestly never seen this side of him before, and it was starting to irritate the hell out of me.

Stupid boy.

I averted my gaze with a disgruntled look, focusing it instead on our Silencing Draught. It was coal black. "What color is this supposed to be again?"

Kats shoved the fringe out of her face, peering down at the book. "A 'soft, breezy lilac'?"

Brilliant. Here's to another 'Troll', then. Curious, I snuck a glance at Alicia and Angelina's cauldron, and sure enough, its contents was a light, shimmering purple color that oozed of 'Outstanding'. "This class is such a waste of time," I griped, dropping my chin into my palm just as a thunderous _crack_ sliced through the room.

All eyes flew over to Snape, or more specifically, the 11,000 page Potions book he'd just snapped shut directly in the face of a terrified first year boy with a stack of papers in his trembling hand. "You—want—me—to—_what_?" Snape punctuated in a deliberate hiss, lowering his face with every word so that his beak nose was looming mere inches from the boy's.

"P-Professor McGonagall h-has requested that you g-give your students—"

"I heard you the first time, you infantile little numbskull, I just don't quite understand what makes you think that I would willingly interrupt my class to hand out something as_offensive_ and _insulting_ as a survey for the _Gryffindor Banquet_," Snape bit out caustically, eyes reduced to charcoal slits.

Comprehension washed over me—Wood and I had met up yesterday to sketch out the surveys so that we could have them handed out by today. While the meeting had been a bit awkward, it was mostly pure business, so it wasn't that bad. I was expecting a lot worse given the dramatic note things we left things on at our prior meeting, but surprisingly, seeing him again had been okay.

A bit tense at first, but okay.

Today's meeting, however, was scheduled for two hours, so it'd be the true test; yesterday's had just been a fifteen-minute thing. I had mixed feelings, but honestly I was just hoping it'd go smoothly. Planning this thing was going to be a bitch and a half if we couldn't get through a single meeting without some sort of drama.

"—can tell Professor McGonagall that I said that she can squander _her_ class time on whatever tickles her feline little fancy, but I refuse to cut _mine _short for the sake of distributing this veritable stack of scarlet and gold _idiocy_," Snape was sneering, expression toxic.

The boy was reduced to a pile of quivering goo at this point, his fingers barely holding onto the surveys. "Sh-she said you'd say something like that, and t-told me to tell you th-that she doesn't want to h-have to bring up the Ch-Christmas Party of '92…"

Snape's face paled instantly, his skin turning an even ghostlier shade of white than it usually was. A long moment of tense, awkward silence went by, the entire class having paused to watch in curiosity, before Snape snapped out of his frozen state, snatched up the surveys, and scowled viciously. "I'd tell everyone to halt their draughts for a moment to listen to an announcement," he said tightly, snapping his glare across the class, "but I suppose you're all superiorly skilled Legilimens, since you've magically stopped _without any instruction to do so_."

His sarcasm was acrid and obvious, and a few people actually resumed stirring their draughts for fear of angering him further. I knew ours was hopeless either way, so I just kept listening aimlessly.

"To all of my _Gryffindor_ students," he drawled, the House sounding like the foulest of insults on his tongue, "your manipulative, blackmailing Head of House requests that you fill out a survey regarding an event of staggering importance: your upcoming banquet." He dropped the stack onto Angelina and Alicia's table with an unceremonious flick of his wrist. "Take more than thirty seconds and I will light you on fire. Time starts now: thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight..."

I rolled my eyes at the empty threat, watching instead as the surveys disseminated amongst the Gryffindors. It was a little exciting, to be honest—this was step one of a whole new approach Wood and I were trying. If it worked, then there was hope that maybe—just _maybe_—we could pull this whole banquet thing off.

If not, well… there's always take two.

"What the…?" Angelina trailed off as she peered at the survey, reading the lines with a calculative frown. I almost snorted: she approached absolutely everything in life like it was a logic puzzle.

"The bloody fuck is this?" Alicia snapped, ever the tactful one, and I rolled my eyes.

"It's a survey, genius—just fill it out."

"Survey?" Katie parroted, grabbing the stack as it was passed back to her and arching a brow. "What kind of survey?"

"Wood and I are… trying something new with the banquet," I offered, grabbing a copy and passing the rest back to Damien Prewitt, a quiet kid in our year. I glanced down at the final draft and couldn't help but smile a bit wryly—it looked completely professional, what with the perfectly spaced margins, neatly measured penmanship, and 100% politically correct wording.

In other words, it had Oliver written all over it.

My eyes dropped down the length of the cookie-cutter questions: "What do you think the Gryffindor Banquet is all about?"; "What do you think the Gryffindor Banquet _should_be all about?"; "In the past, what haven't you liked about them?"; "What would you like to see this year?"; and finally, "What does Gryffindor mean to you? (We're serious.)" Satisfied, I settled back into my chair and glanced around as the Gryffindors began filling theirs in, some chewing on their quill in thought and others rolling their eyes and scribbling in snarky answers.

"Aren't you going to fill yours out?" Kats muttered after a few minutes, puzzling over the fourth question and tapping her quill against her cheek.

"I'm planning it, Katie," I pointed out rather dryly. "I think it's safe to say my opinion will be heard, survey or no survey."

Katie shrugged in response, dropping her hand to jot something down.

"Thirty seconds elapsed precisely seven and a half minutes ago," Snape drawled out, "bringing us to a grand total of eight minutes. While I understand that you are Gryffindors and thus by definition slower than the average witch, wizard, or Blast-Ended Skrewt, I also understand that you are swaggering little miscreants who are averse to learning and prone to stalling. Therefore, I will give you one more minute—no more, likely less—to complete your little surveys. Do hustle," he suggested, lips lifting coldly at the corners, "as I started counting thirty seconds ago."

"Crap," Katie muttered, hastily scribbling in responses to the remaining two questions. Everyone sped up their pace for the remainder of the minute, hands becoming feathery blurs of beige and brown, until Snape unceremoniously called out time.

"Pass your surveys to the stuttering first year," he instructed in a bored voice, walking around with his grade book as he inspected everyone's draughts. "Unless you would prefer them incinerated, in which case feel free to place them on your head."

Katie rolled her eyes as she passed hers to Alicia, muttering something about unhappy childhoods and showering more often. Meanwhile, I gave our potion a few final stirs, contemplating whether it was worth it to actually add the last few ingredients or not—it couldn't very well get much worse, really…

"Should we add the last few things before Snape gets to our draught?" Katie asked, mimicking my thoughts, and without really thinking I just grabbed the measured out ingredients and tossed them in with an impatient, careless motion.

…and then our cauldron blew up.

"Bollocks!" Katie and I yelled in unison, flying out of chairs and under our desks to duck for cover as hot, viscous black liquid sprayed everywhere. We had a routine, you see—it was a lot like a crouch-under-your-desk muggle tornado drill, only effective. How hiding under your desk protected you from a tornado was still a mystery to me…

A few shrieks and cries of displeasure rang through the room as our draught accosted a few unsuspecting Ravenclaws, one in particular having a hole burned through her shirt, and I shot Katie a flat look—it wasn't even that big, the chit needed to _calm down_. Before I could voice this, however, our projectile-spewing cauldron suddenly stilled.

My eyes landed on the two large, scuffed, dusty black shoes positioned right in front of our table, the soles inches from where my hands were splayed on the floor. Snape. Brilliant.

"Eenie, meenie, minee, mo," he drawled out with deliberate languor, prolonging the syllables so as to infuse maximum amounts of condescension. "Catch a Gryffindor by its toe." He slowly bent down to where we were crouching, face cold and sarcastic. "If she hollers, let her know: I intend to give someone detention and you," he pointed at Katie, "are," he pointed at me, "it," he hissed, dropping his finger and sneering at the both of us.

I internally groaned. Perfect. As if this banquet planning shenanigans wasn't eating up enough of my free time.

"Theatrical git," Katie muttered after Snape had risen and stalked off, climbing out from underneath the desk and dusting herself off. I followed suit, yanking down my skirt and avoiding the glares of all the people with black splotches on their uniforms—it's called _Scourgify_, hello.

"It's like everyone woke up and decided to be overdramatic today," I commented, stuffing my books into my backpack just as the bell rang.

"People suck," she grumbled profoundly in response. Amazing what rejecting the person you're head-over-heels for can do to even the sunniest, most optimistic of people…

"Andy," a gruff voice said behind me, and I swung around only to come face-to-face with Lee. The problem. My expression immediately flattened, though he pressed on with, "Can I talk to you for a second?"

"Are you going to be a prat?"

"What? No."

I shot him a look.

"Maybe."

My eyes narrowed.

"Look, I'll try my best not to, but don't—I can't—bloody hell, just follow me," he said exasperatedly, grabbing my wrist and yanking me out of the classroom with barely enough time to grab my bag. The second we cleared the door he rounded on me, expression completely and totally crazed. "I'm going fucking _mental_."

My eyebrows shot up. "Wha—"

"I don't even know what's happening, I just wake up and think of her and get dressed and think of her and eat breakfast and think of her and sit in Transfiguration and think of her and I'm just—bloody hell, I'm just going insane!" he cried, bringing his hands up and shoving them into his hair in a manic motion. "I don't know what to do; this has never happened to me before!"

"Lee, _breathe_," I interjected, eyes wide with surprise, though he bulldozed right through my words, voice frantic.

"I think… hot sodding Merlin, I think I _love_ her," he exclaimed, staring at the wall in horror for a moment as a shockwave ripped right through me.

"You _what_!?"

"I… love her," he repeated, frenzied stare snapping over to mine. "I bloody love her and it's _agony_!"

I stared at him like the absolute nutter that he was, unable to believe what I was witnessing. Lee Jordan—cocky, allergic to feelings other than hunger, epitome-of-thickheaded-bloke _Lee bloody Jordan¬_—was having a meltdown. About _being in love_. With _Kats_. The _fuck_!? "I… am confused."

"_You're_ confused! _I'm_ confused! Or in love! Or _both_—I don't even know what the bloody difference is!" he cried, flinging his arms into the air in frustration.

"Okay, you really need to calm down," I said, raising my palms and trying to swallow some of my bewilderment: he was going mental enough for the both of us. "Flipping out isn't going to solve anything—you need to approach this logically and rationally."

"You're right," he nodded, swallowing tightly and running a harried hand through his hair. "You're absolutely right, I need to shake this. Calm. Rational. Cool. Composed. Hey, I'm Lee, and I'm cool and sexy. Hey, I'm Lee and I always keep it relaxed. Hey, I'm Lee and I'd never let some bird drive me mental." He nodded stiffly after a moment, body tense, eyes resolutely on the floor. And then his stare snapped back up to mine, wide and desperate, "You have to help me get her!"

"_Me_? Look what happened last time I tried playing Cupid, Lee!" I exclaimed, motioning at the wreck he'd been reduced to, though he merely shook his head.

"You're the only one that can help—George and Fred would laugh at me!"

"Of course they wouldn't!"

He scoffed angrily.

"Fine, so maybe they would, but why can't you ask Alicia or Angelina!?"

"Because _you_ started this mess," he snapped accusatorially, lifting a finger and jabbing it in my face. "_You_ told me she fancied me, _you_ avoided me afterwards instead of telling me she didn't want me anymore, and now you are going to fix this before I become the Moaning Myrtle of the sixth floor boys loo!"

"First of all, stop yelling at me," I growled, smacking his finger out of my face and scowling. "Second of all, I didn't tell you she didn't want you anymore because it isn't true."

"Well _you_ can just—" he halted suddenly, shocked. "Wait, what?"

"She still fancies you," I explained irritably, and Lee's entire face melted.

"She… but… why…?"

"I don't know, Jordan, Kats is complicated," I grumbled, crossing my arms in a rather resigned fashion as he sank into a series of dazed mutters. Behind me, the door to the Potions room sprang open and made way for the stream of students pouring out, and my eyes instantly sought out Katie.

I caught sight of her shiny brown plait within seconds, swinging lightly down her back as she chatted with Angelina and Alicia about something that had them all laughing. My eyes softened a bit—she deserved to be happy. She'd been keeping up appearances decently well these past few days, but I could see through the bullshit. She was sad.

And it was all because the bloke she fancied was in love with her. This was _dumb_.

"I'll help you," I found myself muttering against any and all better judgment, causing Lee's head to snap up eagerly.

"Really?"

"Yeah, but don't look so excited," I replied, wary of his exuberant smile, "I can't promise you anything."

"Bloody hell, Andy, you're the best mate a bloke could ask for!" he cried, throwing his arms around me in a grandiose gesture and pulling me into a giant bear hug. I squawked out in protest as he swung me around, struggling not to fly out of his grip, when all of a sudden he stopped. And put me down. And stiffened. "Who's that?"

I glanced over my shoulder with a perplexed expression, though it promptly diffused with amusement at the sight of none other than the 'baby daddy' of third year, Jefferson Sinclair. He was leaning toward Katie with a shamelessly suggestive expression, arm propped against the wall she was standing by in a predatory, there's-no-escape fashion. "Oh, dear God."

"Why is he looking at her like that?" Lee growled, dropping his arms from around my waist and holding them tightly at his sides, and I snorted.

"He's a third year, relax."

"I don't care what year he's in, he's looking at her like she's dipped in melted chocolate!" he replied, though his face promptly grew hazy at the mental image of his words, eyes dazing off for a moment.

I arched a brow. "Lee?"

He jerked back into awareness. "What?" His eyes wandered back over to Katie and slitted at the sight of Jefferson. "Oh, right—I'm going to go over and say something."

"No!" I exclaimed, grabbing his shoulder and yanking him back as he began walking off. "Lee, _don't_, you'll just embarrass her."

"That slimy git is hitting on her—it's inappropriate!"

"As opposed to envisioning her covered in melted chocolate?" I countered, and his expression grew dazed again. "_Lee_!"

"Sorry, sorry!" he exclaimed, shaking his head to clear it. "I just… I dunno, I think I should say something."

"You're not her boyfriend, so _no_, you shouldn't," I pointed out, watching as his narrowed eyes pierced holes through Jefferson's girly, shiny dark hair. "Besides, Jefferson's completely harmless."

"_Jefferson_," he said in a low, savoring growl, drawing out every syllable. "So the devil has a name."

I almost burst out laughing: that had to be the most soap opera-ish voice I'd ever heard in my life. Seriously, that was the voice Pedro would use when he walked in on Maria and his long lost twin brother Jose Pablo getting it on in some Mexican stable on a show called something ridiculous like _Pasión Incontrolable_. "The devil is also thirteen years old and has all the maturity of an earthworm," I replied, wondering what the hell was wrong with people today.

"I don't know about this…"

"Trust me, Lee. Let it go."

"But—"

"Walk away."

"Are you—"

"Yes—go."

He cast a final, mistrustful look at Jefferson and Katie before sighing darkly and swiveling around, waving a stiff hand behind him in goodbye. I watched him walk off with a wry look before wheeling around and heading over to Katie, mentally cursing her for being so damn adorable and loveable and inadvertently putting me in these situations.

"…thinking you, me, a romantic picnic under the stars, and maybe a lap dance or two—"

"Jefferson, how completely lovely to see you again," I interjected dryly, shooting Katie a questioning look. She shrugged helplessly.

"'Lo there, doll," Jefferson greeted with a glittering grin, giving my body a very pointed and obvious once over that lingered on the hem of my skirt. "God, I've missed those legs."

I'd almost forgotten how creepy he was. "Don't you have class?" I nodded over to the Potions room where all the other third years where filing in and he merely shrugged.

"I'd be happy to substitute it for some sexual education." Merlin, here we go. "I'm all about diversifying my academics, you see. I like things to be _well-rounded_." At this, his cheeky stare dropped pointedly to Katie's chest.

"Okay, _wow_," she said in indignation, hurriedly crossing her arms and shaking her head in disbelief.

"Too hot?" he asked with a smirk.

"More like too disgusting," I replied, causing his salacious stare to slink over to mine.

"You're so deliciously fiery," he purred, raising a finger in what looked like an attempt to drag it down my arm, but he slowed to halt after a moment, expression growing serious. "But unfortunately, I've recently become a one-woman man."

"Oh, have you?"

"'Fraid so, Legs," he replied, voice somber and regretful. "It's tough, but it's the only way Cindy McLaggen will go out with me." He shrugged tragically. "It's hard out here for a pimp."

I struggled not to burst out laughing whilst Katie choked on her own saliva, staring at the spectacle that was Jefferson Sinclair with wide eyes. This kid needed his own show. Like really, that'd be prime time shit.

"Anyway, I should probably get to Potions—Cindy's waiting for me," he explained, wriggling his eyebrows. "The fumes always make her frisky."

"Have fun," I snorted, and he grinned.

"See you around, Legs. Oh, and Wild Cat?" he called out, face growing suggestive as he backed away toward the Potions room. "Maybe sometime, when this whole monogamist rubbish's over, we can get together and talk about my favorite colo—"

"_Bye_, Jefferson," she cut in, mortified face buried in her hands. I bit my lip, shoulders shaking with laughter as he waltzed into Potions without a care in the world. Merlin, it was so strange to think that he was actually in someone's year—that there were people who had to put up with him on a daily basis. Poor third years…

"That kid needs help."

"That kid needs _Jesus_," Katie corrected, shaking her head in disbelief.

Couldn't really argue with that.

* * *

Eight P.M. was starting to roll around altogether too quickly these days. I wouldn't exactly say I was _dreading_ my meeting with Wood, since that would be an exaggeration, I was just… not exactly looking forward to it. Things were rather up in the air in terms of whether we were friends or not (since we never really had been to begin with), so I wasn't quite sure how to act around him.

Polite? Civil? Chummy? Fuck if I know.

All I know is that it's 8:20 and I accidentally fell asleep before dinner and now I'm sprinting down the corridor to get to this blasted meeting before Wood flips out and goes all Exorcist on me about punctuality. What's more, I'm absolute starving, and I tend to get irritable more easily when I'm hungry. Recipe for disaster? Guess I'll find out.

"Sorry!" I gasped as I threw open the door to the Transfiguration room, panting all attractively as my hair fell into my face. "Accidentally fell asleep—no alarm—slept through…" I paused at the faint sound of chuckling, pushing my hair out of my face with a perplexed look. Wood was sitting at our usual table in the back, gazing down at a stack of parchments with a quill in hand. And he was laughing.

"You have _got_ to read some of these responses, Wiles."

I frowned at the statement, totally bemused. "You mean you're not going to yell at me for being late?"

"Grrr, you're late," he drawled, grin spreading over his face as his eyes continued to scan the survey responses. He all out laughed after a moment, tossing his head back and everything, and I felt like I was in a Twilight Zone episode. Was there something in the water, maybe? House Elves pulling a prank? "Read this," he said, thrusting the survey out to me and meeting my gaze with dancing eyes, "and tell me it wasn't written by your clone."

Still a bit bewildered, I walked over and sat down across from him, grabbing the survey with a wary air. He chuckled again before picking up another one, shaking his head briefly, and I shot him a final odd look before lifting the survey and reading it.

**What do you think the Gryffindor Banquet is all about?**  
_Sadistic professors watching students wriggle and squirm in agony as we die of boredom._

**What do you think the Gryffindor Banquet should be all about?**  
_Sadistic students watching professors wriggle and squirm in agony as they die of boredom._

**In the past, what haven't you liked about them?**  
_Their general existence.  
_  
**What would you like to see this year?**  
_It cancelled._

**What does Gryffindor mean to you? (We're serious.)**  
_Shitty banquets. (I'm serious.)_

I found myself chuckling, grin pulling up the corners of my mouth. "I like this kid."

"I figured," he replied, scanning over another set of responses with an amused expression. "I've been going through them all and marking down things worth mentioning to you, but so far, I haven't got much. Most are just cheeky."

I reached out and grabbed another one from the pile, scanning it briefly. Every answer was 'your mom'. Witty. "This could be a problem."

He shrugged. "As long as the serious answers pick up at some point, we'll be alright."

"Hopefully." I tossed the survey aside, reaching for yet another one, and after a moment of reading I burst out laughing. "In the past, what haven't you liked about them: Nobody spikes the fucking punch."

Wood chuckled, shaking his head and quoting his own. "'What would you like to see this year: I'd like to see the Cannons beat the Harpies.' Useless."

"And will never happen."

"Ever." He burst out laughing suddenly. "'What do you think the Gryffindor Banquet should be all about: rainbows, happiness, and being able to accomplish your wildest dreams!' Who gave this to a Hufflepuff?"

I snorted derisively, and we carried on like this for a good hour or so, trading funny responses back and forth and inventing some of our own. And you want to know what? For the entirety of that hour, he wasn't Wood and I wasn't Andy: we were just two people laughing at stupid things without any awkward tension or history.

It was… different, to say the least. But not entirely unpleasant. Just… I dunno, _lighter._

"Huh," he muttered after a moment, cocking his head to the side. The responses had gotten more serious after a while, and since then we'd fallen into a rather intense silence. "That's interesting."

I glanced up from the survey in my hand. "Hm?"

"This person says that they'd like to see the location change this year," he replied, tapping his quill against his cheek.

"As in move it from the Great Hall?"

"Yeah—they said everything's always in the Great Hall and it gets old."

I frowned at this, considering it. "That's a good point."

"Yeah, I'd never thought about moving it, but it'd be a great way to shake things up."

"Like a blaring statement of 'this year's going to be different'," I added, propping my chin onto my hand. "Where would we move it to, though?"

"Quidditch pitch?" he offered, and I rolled my eyes.

"Funny."

"I was serious," he said perplexedly, and I shot him a dark look.

"_No_."

"Astronomy tower?"

I shook my head with a grimace. "Too much of a snog spot—that's only good for parties."

He breezed through another few suggestions, all equally bad, before tossing his hands up in defeat. "Well what's left then, Wiles, the bloody lake?"

I tossed him an irritated look, though it froze after a moment, filling with revelation. "The lake." His face crumpled just as mine ignited with excitement. "The lake, Wood! That's genius!"

"What are you on about?"

"We'll have it on the lake!"

"On a boat?"

"On a boat!"

"On a _boat_?"

"On a boat!"

"Wiles, look at me: on a motherfucking _boat_?" He looked totally thrown by the idea, and I nodded eagerly.

"Yeah!"

"How… would we even _begin_ to pull that off?"

"Well, think about it: we have a lot of money left over from previous years since no one's ever bothered to put effort into planning this, so we might as well use it on something cool," I reasoned out, thrilled with the idea. "We could rent one of those huge boats with a giant, open deck at the top and use that as a dance floor, and we can have food and decorations and music and lights—"

"Slow down," he interjected, holding up his hands, and I could tell he was doing that annoying thing where he resisted anything fun or spontaneous.

"It'd be spectacular! People could arrive at a certain time to board and then we can set off and sail around the lake—"

"It wouldn't technically be sailing."

"—and then at midnight or so, we can head back to the dock and people could hang about for a bit or go home or whatever," I finished, grinning like a four-year-old. "People would love it, and no one else has done it before!"

Wood looked skeptical. "I dunno, Wiles."

"What's there not to know?"

"Cost, liability, booking, permissions—"

I groaned, lolling my head back, "Can Grandfather Wood go fix his walker for two seconds and let me talk to seventeen-year-old Wood?"

"—not to mention finding a sound company whose references check out—"

"Oh, right, they're the same person."

"—get insurance involved, and that's just a hassle, Andy," he finally finished, shaking his head. "This is a bad idea."

"No, it's not," I said stubbornly, crossing my arms. "It's a great idea, you're just complicating it."

"I'm just _rationalizing_ it, there's a difference."

"Well, they're both boring," I countered like the epitome of maturity that I am, and he scoffed.

"Better boring than ill-thought-out and dangerous."

I tossed my hands up exasperatedly. "It won't be dangerous—it's a _cruise_!"

"Tell that to Titanic survivors."

I dropped my hands, shaking my head in disbelief, "You're being ridiculous." I know I told myself I wouldn't argue with him anymore, and I know I promised myself I'd try and understand where he was coming from more, but this was just crazy. You'd think I was pushing a skydiving party.

"Maybe, but I'm still against it."

"Well, I'm for it," I snapped, entirely annoyed, "and I'm taking it to McGonagall."

"Fine."

"_Fine_."

He merely shrugged in response, leaning back into his seat all self-righteously. Merlin, with all the craziness going on lately, it was so easy to forget why I used to hate him, but moments like this gave me an inkling. Git.

He waited a beat before talking again. "So, besides this whole boat thing, what other options do we have?"

"None—the boat's going to happen."

He rolled his eyes. "Stop being difficult, Wiles."

"Disagreeing with your 85-year-old opinion doesn't mean I'm being difficult, Wood," I snapped back, growing more and more irritable by the second, and he sighed.

"You didn't have dinner, did you?"

Annoyed confusion swept through me. "What does that have to do with—"

"Thought so—get up," he cut in, getting to his feet and dropping his quill on the desk. I stared at him in blazing bewilderment, having no idea what he was getting at, and he sighed impatiently at my immobility. "_Up_!"

Irked, I pushed my chair back and stood up, abandoning my survey on the desk. "What exactly are we doing?"

"Getting you something to eat," he replied, waltzing over to the door and motioning for me to follow. My stomach cheered at the prospect, though my gaze was narrowed and lost.

"Why…?"

He swung the door open, holding it open and glancing back at me. "Because you turn into a shirty cow whenever you're hungry and I don't really feel like dealing with it at the moment. Now c'mon—don't you want food?"

"No." My stomach growled. "Maybe." He shot me a skeptical look. "A bit."

"Great, then stop complaining and follow me," he replied, holding the door open wider and motioning for me to pass through. Begrudgingly, I made my way over, shooting him a brief glare as I walked out the door and into the hallway.

"To the Kitchens, then?" I guessed, glancing over my shoulder, and he looked surprised as he shut the door.

"You know about them?"

"I'm friends with the Weasley twins—of course I know about them."

"Oh," he replied, falling in step next to me. "And here I was, thinking I was being all gallant and impressive."

"Life's tough like that."

"Pity, isn't it?"

"Devastating."

"Tragic, really."

"Nothing short of dreadful."

"Almost _egregious_."

I shot him a look. Was he challenging me? The barely visible smirk on his face confirmed it, and my eyes narrowed into slits: it was _on_. "Ghastly."

"Vile."

"Cataclysmic."

"Horrible."

"Frightful."

"Appalling."

"Atrocious."

"Despicable."

This went on to the point that, by the time we reached the Bowl of Fruit portrait, we were engaged in all all-out synonyms _battle_.

"Shameful!"

"Horrid!"

"Absolutely _wretched_!"

"One might even go as far as to say _reprehensible_!" Wood enunciated in a purposefully pompous English accent, causing me to laugh despite myself—I don't think I'd ever heard him speak in any accent but his own.

"Nah, bloody terrible is what it is!" I replied in a gruff, overdone Scottish accent, hand flying out dramatically, and he shook his head as he tickled the pear.

"You need to roll your r's more." The portrait swung open merrily and admitted the both of us, and before it could even fully close, two House Elves were at our feet. _Damn_. Speedy service.

"Mr. Wood!" the taller one cried out in delight, grabbing his hands and kissing them exuberantly. "You have come to visit Missy and Pearl!"

I arched a brow as he chuckled and fended her off, patting the shorter one fondly on the head. "'Course I have. I was actually wondering if you two lovely ladies could get my friend here something to eat?" He gestured at me and their wide eyes snapped over, bright and eager. Or at least the shorter one's were—the taller one's were steadily narrowing.

"Of course! Any of friend of Mr. Wood is a friend of Missy!" the shorter one exclaimed gleefully, scampering off into the pantry and disappearing. The taller one—Pearl, I presumed—remained in place, struggling with her scowl.

"Mr. Wood has never brought a girlfriend with him before," she observed a bit tightly, bony hands curling into fists. "Pearl is confused."

"Oh, I'm not his—"

"Pearl was talking to Mr. Wood," she snapped at me, expression angry, before turning back to Wood with a lovesick look. I almost choked—Pearl was in love with Wood. Oh, dear God.

"She's not my girlfriend, Pearl, she's just a friend," he replied in a placating voice, and I shot him a look of disbelief.

"You're explaining yourself to a House Elf?"

"Mr. Wood was talking to Pearl!" Pearl snapped yet again, fists growing tighter at her sides, and I held up my hands in surrender.

"Sorry, Merlin, calm down."

She glared at me intensely until Wood spoke up. "Would you actually mind getting me a glass of water, Pearl?"

"Anything for Mr. Wood," she replied immediately, blindingly bright smile replacing her scowl as she turned around and scurried off.

"Charming friends you've got," I muttered the moment she'd disappeared from sight, causing Wood to send me a flat look.

"Missy's great, and Pearl's just a little—"

"Psychotic?"

"—territorial," he finished, walking over to the counter and pulling himself onto a stool. I rolled my eyes and followed suit, taking a seat across from him.

"Whatever you say." I propped my elbow up and dropped my chin into my palm, surveying the Kitchens idly. "So how often do you come here, 'Mr. Wood'?"

He shrugged. "A few times a week, I s'pose."

That was a lot more than I ever did. "Why so often?"

"Just busy, I guess," he muttered, rubbing his jaw. "Balancing Quidditch and N.E.W.T.'s and stuff doesn't really leave much time for dinner."

"It would if you weren't such a perfectionist," I teased, though internally, I couldn't shake the thought that perhaps he kept himself so busy to forget about his home life. The notion depressed me a bit.

"Perfectionist—I wish," he said with a wry look, shaking his head. "Arithmancy's completely kicking my arse."

I perked up. "Really?"

"Yeah," he replied, lips curling a bit dryly at my bright expression. "Not all of us can be Vector's little favorite."

I laughed, brushing my shoulder off in a cocky gesture. "What can I say? I've got skills."

"You want to give me some of them? I can't afford to keep getting tests with 'see me's written on them," he said, and my face scrunched in confusion.

"Isn't seeing Vector after class like every male student's dream?"

"It's not that great, trust me," he muttered, and my gaze flattened.

"Oh, shut up."

"What?"

"Don't try to act all unfazed."

"I'm not, I'm just—"

"Vector's smoking hot and you know it."

His brows shot up at my statement, surprised laugh escaping from his mouth. "I never said she wasn't."

"Good, because there's nothing more annoying than a bloke pretending he's above everyone else when really he's the same red-blooded, hormonal dog they all are," I tossed out, waving a hand arbitrarily. "Girls get it—we see through the bollocks, so the least you lot can do is be honest. We probably agree with you anyway."

He looked rather surprised by my statement, though after a moment, his eyes narrowed into a curious expression. "Interesting. So by your logic," he began, slowly leaning forward onto his elbows, "a guy should point out whenever a fit girl walks by to his girlfriend."

I scoffed. "If he wants to get dumped."

"What? Why?"

"Because there's a difference between lying about something you were asked about and needlessly pointing something out," I retorted, crossing my arms.

"So what if she asks him something touchy, like if he think her sister's fit?"

"Tell the truth."

"But what if she is fit?"

"Then she already knows her sister's fit, so lying to her isn't going to fool anybody."

"But what if she asks which one of them is fitter?"

"Then she's an insecure cow who's purposefully putting you in an awkward situation and you should break up with her," I retorted, tone a bit tetchy. "Is this coming from personal experience or something?"

"No, just curious about the way you think," he replied, watching me closely, and for a moment, a glimmer of the tension that had been so gloriously absent thus far in the night resurfaced. His eyes were locked on mine, dark with something vaguely mysterious and alluring, and I felt the beginnings of heat trickling up my spine.

"Why?"

His expression grew a bit dryer, though his eyes kept their same strange, dizzying quality. "Why do you think, Wiles?"

Thankfully, Missy made her grand reappearance before the conversation could escalate. "Water for Mr. Wood!" she announced cheerfully, climbing onto her tiptoes to place the glass on the counter, "and dinner leftovers for Mr. Wood's friend!" She placed a glorious plate of spaghetti in front of me, steam curling from the tangled noodles and a spicy aroma wafting from the sauce, and I honestly felt myself melting. "Would you be liking some breadsticks, miss?" She smacked a basket down beside the plate before I could even answer and gave me a wide smile, scampering off without another word.

"You're right," I said after a moment, glancing back over to Wood. "Missy _is_ great."

"Told you."

I smiled, digging into my spaghetti with all the grace of a hippogriff, and the remainder of the meal went by relatively uneventfully (besides the occasional scowl from Pearl). In fact, it wasn't until we were walking back to the Gryffindor common room that I realized something: we'd made through the entire night drama free.

A few spats here and there, maybe, but compared to what it'd been for the past week or so, that meeting had been downright _peaceful_. So naturally I had to mess it up.

"I'm serious about the boat thing, by the way," I announced as we entered the common room, eyes sweeping over the couches for any sight of Angelina, Alicia, or Kats.

"And I'm serious about being against it," he replied in the same casual tone, similarly assessing the common room's inhabitants. I fought down the surge of annoyance triggered by his words, forcing myself to stay relaxed.

"I respect that." He snorted and I glared. "No really, I do, but once McGonagall gives it the okay, can I count on you to help me with it?"

His eyes finally strayed over to mine. "She's not going to give it the okay, Wiles."

"Yes, she is."

"Not without my backing."

My eyes narrowed at this. "You don't think I can convince her by myself?"

"Frankly, no."

My lips pursed in irritation. "Fine, then. _Watch_ me."

"Best of luck," he chuckled darkly as I turned around and walked off, heading over to the Girls' staircase.

"No luck necessary," I shot back, stubborn determination sweeping over me as I began drafting the letter I was going to owl McGonagall in my head. It had to be respectful. Responsible-sounding. Professional. Something like:

_Professor McGonagall,_

_My partner is incompetent and senile and his ideas are about as exciting as flobberworms. Can we chat?_

_Smooches,  
Andy_

Wood was going down.


	22. Triumph is Just Try with a Little Oomph

**Settling the Score**

Triumph Is Just Try With a Little Umph Added

"I've said it once and I'll say it again, Andora: unless Mr. Wood is in agreement with your proposal, I cannot and will not approve it."

I stared at McGonagall with wide, pleading eyes, sitting in a chair in the middle of her office. "But Professor—"

"No buts, Ms. Wiles," she interjected in a stern tone, holding my stare unflinchingly. "The entire purpose of having you and Mr. Wood plan the banquet is to teach you how to work together effectively—relying on me to intervene and choose sides during your conflicts will accomplish the precise _opposite_ of that."

"I understand that, I really do, but at the same time I can't help but see an inherent flaw in this situation," I argued as respectfully as I could, my frustration mounting.

"And what's that?"

"By not taking sides, you by default take his. Different means to the same end: no boat."

"I haven't rejected the idea, Ms. Wiles, I simply haven't approved it."

My stare flattened. "Translation?"

"Talk to him," she replied, lips pursing a bit at my tone. "Teamwork involves communication, cooperation, and most importantly, _compromise_. See if you can reach some sort of agreement and _then_ approach me with it."

"I'm sorry, are we talking about the same Oliver Wood, here?" I asked, gesturing irritably. "Because the one I know is impossibly stubborn and doesn't even know the meaning of the word compromise."

"Incidentally, the same could be said about his partner."

Touché.

"We can go on like this for hours, Ms. Wiles, but the bottom line is and will remain that you must come to some sort of agreement with Mr. Wood on your own. I'm not here to mediate your disagreements, I'm merely a signature on a consent form—a final word on ideas you propose _synergistically_," she explained, and I rolled my eyes—McGonagall was obsessed with the word synergy. "I've explained the concept of synergy to you, have I not? How working together—"

"Allows people to achieve something that they couldn't have achieved individually? Yes. More than once." More than bloody thrice.

"Watch your tone, Andora."

"Sorry," I grumbled darkly.

"So, are we clear?" she asked, straightening in her seat and eyeing me sternly.

"Claritin Clear."

"Consult Mr. Wood then report back to me, alright?" she said, ignoring the muggle reference that probably made no sense to her. "No boat idea unless you're both onboard." She promptly smirked in a self-satisfied manner and I struggled not to scoff.

Boat. Onboard. Punny.

"Got it. Thanks, Professor," I muttered in a tone that implied an irreverent 'for doing jack shit', but if she caught this, she waved it off.

"Of course. Now get back to class—I don't want to keep you any longer than necessary."

I pushed myself out of my seat with a dark sigh, every inch the sulky teenager, and began plotting in my head exactly how I was going to do this. The boat idea was happening—I don't care what Wood thought, it was exactly the kind of change this event needed. If he was too thick to see that on his own, then I'd just have to intervene and shoehorn it into his head myself.

But I needed a plan.

Stage one: irritate/exasperate until he agrees to at least consider it.

Stage two: come to some sort of bollocks conditional agreement (i.e. "We'll do the boat thing, but only if people wear glow-in-the-dark life vests over their dress robes").

Stage three: find problem with the condition (i.e. "Everybody's just going to take them off anyway") once he's already hooked on the idea.

Stage four: flatter until he abandons the condition and agrees to just go ahead with the original plan of renting a boat.

Stage five: revel in my brilliance.

It sounded pretty solid to me. My satisfaction obviously showed on my face, for when I waltzed back into Charms, Alicia's lips pursed. "Well aren't _you_ just the cat that swallowed the bunny."

"Its canary, you dolt," George muttered with an eye roll, causing her glare over to snap over to him.

"Different noun, same sentiment! So," she ventured, voice sly again as her gaze strayed back over to mine. "Spill."

"Nothing to spill," I said with a shrug, dropping down into my seat with a self-satisfied air. "Just came up with a plan, is all."

George, upon hearing the word 'plan', instantly grew interested. "Plan for what?"

"You'll see."

"Does it involve Oliver?" Alicia asked, and I smirked.

"Yup."

"Does it involve shagging out your sexual frustrations in the locker room after practice?"

My cheeks colored. "_No_."

"Then I don't like it," she said simply, turning her attention back to her notes with a bored air. George, however, continued pressing the issue.

"How can you have a plan and not tell me? I'm a Weasley twin, I mean _really_."

"Because it doesn't involve dungbombs or blowing things up or using those ridiculous stretchy ear things you and Fred have been working on—"

"Extendable ears?"

"Whatever—point is, it's all mental manipulation."

George yawned. "Boring."

"Does mental manipulation involve seduction?" Alicia piped in, looking interested again, and I shot her an exasperated look.

"No!"

"Then I agree with George," she replied, glancing back at her notes indifferently.

"You guys are just jealous," I threw out rather nonsensically, annoyed with their lack of enthusiasm.

"Of what, your boring plan?" Alicia scoffed, and George pulled a desolate face.

"Blimey, I wish I could be as uncreative as Andy…"

"Oh, shove off," I muttered, turning in my seat so that my back was to them. My plan was spectacular. They'd just have to wait till today's Quidditch practice to see that. Wankers.

* * *

**Andy's Epic Plan  
Phase One  
Status:** _commencing now._

"Alright, everybody settle down," Wood called over the general buzz of the broom-mounted team hovering around him, holding his hands up in a quieting gesture. It was the first Quidditch practice we'd had since the Slytherin match, and while everyone had appreciated the break, we were all pretty excited to be back in the air again. "That means stop hitting George, Spinnet."

Alicia promptly dropped her hand, sending George a snotty look before settling her narrowed gaze onto Oliver. "Happy?"

"Thrilled. Now, everybody listen up—I gave you a few days off to wind down after the Slytherin match, but I want to make it clear that I expect everyone to be in top form today." He let his competitive gaze flicker over us, eyes bright with authority. "Just because the season's over doesn't mean we can faff about for the next few weeks doing nothing—the House cup is closer than you think, and depending on how the points work out, we may very well have to play Slytherin again. As of now," he said, glancing down at the clipboard in hand, "Gryffindor's at 3,375 House points, Ravenclaw's at 3,150, Slytherin's at 2,950, and Hufflepuff's at 2,110."

"Slytherin's below Ravenclaw by two hundred," Angelina pointed out, expression skeptical. "I highly doubt that Ravenclaws are going to rack up enough detentions to sink that far—"

"You forget that Snape has a say in this," Wood cut in. "Between doling out free points to students in his House and taking away five or ten here and there from the Ravenclaws, he could manage it."

"It's still a bit of a stretch," Angelina replied uncertainly, "but not entirely impossible, I s'pose."

"We have to plan for the worst, Johnson," he said with an uncompromising shrug, and a shot of annoyance flickered through me. He was so used to getting his way, but you know what? Today he had another thing coming, and its name was _phase one_. "So, anyway—"

"Hey, Wood?"

He glanced over at me, brow arching a bit impatiently. "What?"

"Have you given more thought to the whole boat idea?"

"Excuse me?"

"For the banquet—you know how I wanted to have it on a boat?"

He stared at me in blazing confusion. "What the bloody hell does that have to do with—"

"The banquet's going to be on a _boat_?" Fred cut in, eyes lighting up. "That's brilliant! Oi, George, did'ya hear—"

"The banquet is not going to be on a boat," Wood cut in, narrowed eyes fixed on mine, "and even if it was, which it _isn't_, this is _Quidditch_ practice, where shockingly enough, we discuss _Quidditch_."

"But—"

"And when we're done discussing Quidditch, we _play_ Quidditch, and when we're done playing Quidditch, we discuss it some more," he continued on, plowing over George's interjection with the beginnings of a scowl. "Is that clear to everyone, or shall I go over it again?"

"Mr. Growlsworth mode," Alicia whispered to Katie, who rolled her eyes at the stupid nickname and muttered something in return.

A few moments of otherwise silence went by before Wood gave a curt nod, satisfied with the response. "Great. Now, today we're going to focus in on—"

"Hey, Wood?"

His grip on his broom tightened at the sound of my voice, eyes flaring with warning as they snapped over to mine. "This'd better be good, Wiles."

"I really think you should give the boat thing a little more thought," I suggested innocently, voice harmlessly light and oblivious to his scorn. "I mean, everyone seems to like it but you. Don't you guys like it?" I struggled not to laugh at the growing incredulity on his face, casting my eyes over the rest of the team instead.

"I think it's brilliant," George replied with a wicked grin. "Fred and I could test our new water products…"

"Could I wear a bikini?" Alicia asked, and Katie's eyes grew wide with excitement.

"You could have some sort of open deck so people could dance under the stars! That's so romantic…"

"If Alicia can wear a bikini, can Angelina wear one, too?" Fred asked, to which Angelina immediately shoved him.

"See? Everyone likes it," I pointed out, swinging my gaze back over to Wood's. His expression was molten with anger. "It's a bit selfish to rule out an idea everyone likes just because you don't like it, don't you think? Especially since this banquet is for _everybody_, not just—"

"_Ten_ laps, _on_ the ground, right bloody _now_," he snapped, eyes searing mine. "Everyone!" At this, a loud chorus of groans sounded, and Wood's face didn't so much as flicker as he drawled out a spiteful, "Consider it your welcome back warm-up."

I shot him a brief smile before veering my broom to the side, making to head off to the ground. Unsurprisingly, a rough grip promptly stopped me. "Yes?" I said, smiling up at his scowling face.

"What the hell are you trying to pull?"

My brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, come off it, Andy."

"Come off what?"

"This is Quidditch practice—I don't schedule in time slots for discussing rubbish like the Gryffindor Banquet and you _know_ it," he growled, and I instantly knew I'd picked a perfect time to bring it up. If he thought he was annoyed now…

"I'm really sorry, Wood, I didn't know it was such a big deal…"

"Like hell you didn't," he snapped, and I almost grinned. Of course I knew it was a big deal—Wood's practices were planned down to the last second. Every drill, every water break, every warm-up—it was scheduled in his little game book and regarded with the sanctity of Bible scripture. "This set of laps puts us behind twenty bloody minutes…"

I pulled a solemn face. "I'm sorry, Oliver. I guess I'm just really excited about the whole boat idea. I'll try and push it out of my mind for the next few hours, okay?"

He held my gaze for a long, irritated moment. Then, "We're not doing the boat, Andy." My innocent face instantly flashed into battle-mode.

"Yes, we are."

"No, we're not—did you talk to McGonagall?"

"Yes, and she really liked the idea," I lied, tilting my chin up competitively.

"So she approved it, then?"

"Not _exactly_, but—"

"I knew it."

"Shove off, she wanted to approve it, but she says she can't let anything pass if we're not in agreement over it," I snapped, causing his eyes to fill with arrogant condescension.

"So I have all the power in the situation."

"Like hell you do."

"Really."

"Really, because if you say no, then I'll spread the word around the entire school and get them all excited about it, and then I'll break the news to them that we can't do it purely because you don't want to," I invented on a whim, though my brow promptly furrowed in consideration—that actually wasn't a bad idea…

"Do you really think I care about a bunch of angry underclassmen, Wiles?"

"You will when they egg your four-poster."

He rolled his eyes. "They're not going to egg my bloody four-poster…"

Yeah, because I'm going to do it for them. "Fine. Whatever you say."

"Well, I say no."

"Guess I have some news to spread, then."

His eyes narrowed, though before he could respond, Fred cried out a vibrant, "Are you _kidding_ me?" We both looked down to where he'd stopped running on the track, staring up at us in outrage. "She's the one that started this bollocks and she doesn't have to run ten laps!?"

Wood glanced over at me for a moment, taking in the stubborn pout on my face, and to my absolute shock, his expression softened the slightest bit. "No." My cheeks began to warm a bit as he cocked his head to the side, expression oddly warm, hand reaching up as if to tuck a loose curl behind my ear. I felt my breath catching in my throat—what the _fuck was he doing_? And then, "She has to run _fifteen_."

He dropped his hovering hand to pat my cheek in a smug, 'off you go, now!' fashion, all softness flying out the window. I smacked his hand off with a scowl, heartbeat restoring itself to its normal pace. "You're such a sodding _git_."

"Run along now, love."

"You're going to agree to the boat idea!" I snapped over my shoulder as I veered my broom away, flying toward the ground. He rolled his eyes behind me and I gritted my teeth together.

**Andy's Epic Plan  
Phase One  
Status:** struggling.

* * *

**Andy's Epic Plan  
Phase One  
Status:** _ballin' out of control._

"Damn it, _Andy_—"

"Just agree to _consider_ it."

"—can't even _see the damn Quaffle_—"

"I'm really not asking for much."

"—out of the bloody _way!_—"

"You're really making this so much harder than it has to be."

"—_ridiculous_ that you're—"

"All I want is an 'I'll think about it'—"

_SMACK._

I winced as a Quaffle Wood hadn't seen coming smacked right against his head, thrown by Angelina and intended for the middle goal. He cursed violently under his breath, bringing his hand up to his temple and rubbing it angrily as Angelina snickered out an apology. He waved her off and shot me a caustic glare.

This may or may not be because I've been flying around him in circles for the past ten minutes. "What? You blocked it, didn't you? Woot! Go team!" I pumped my fist in the air for emphasis.

He shook his head and muttered something I couldn't quite hear, but I figured it was sentimental and lovely. You know, something like 'Why don't you go fly circles around the Whomping Willow instead; see how that works out for you?' Sweet nothings like that.

Wood was such a romantic, honestly.

"Look, how long am I going to have to fly around you before you cave?" I asked, growing a bit impatient with this whole routine. "Flying in circles is fun for the first few minutes, but it's gotten old now and my head is starting to spin."

He pointedly ignored me, and I took this as a signal to keep talking.

"And Merlin, if it's already annoying me, I can only imagine how much it's annoying you," I prattled on, shaking my head as I continued to zoom around him. "I'd have exploded ages ago—and that's not even taking into account my singing the Macarena during our speed drills, convincing everyone to leap frog the laps we were supposed to run, and charming the back of your broom to blink 'Diva' when you weren't looking…"

His jaw clenched as he kept his eyes trained on the pitch, fingers tightening around the handle of his broom. I could tell he was trying to keep himself from turning around and checking to see if the diva thing was real, and my lips twitched into a wicked smirk—hell yeah it was real.

"But then again, you're a lot more patient than I am," I said, randomly changing my whizzing pace to a glacial one. He stiffened and I smiled—it's amazing what little shifts like that can do to someone so consistency-obsessed. "Like, I bet I could do my Shrieking Mandrake impression right now and you wouldn't even flinch. In fact—AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHRLKWEJBNFLKB SDF—"

"Fucking hell!" Alicia shrieked from down the pitch, dropping the Quaffle to cover her ears.

"—EEEEEEEEEEEUUUUUUUUGGGGHHHHS DJBDS—"

"Is someone dis_membering_ her!?" Fred gritted out.

"—OOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYGFDJ HKSSK—"

"If they aren't, I bloody will!" Angelina spat out, hands stuffed over her ears.

"UUUUUUUUUUUIIIIIIIIINNNHHFGK ADJBNKDAS—"

"DEAR GOD, MAKE IT—"

Just as Alicia was about to strike a Bludger at me with the bat she'd stolen from George, Wood cracked. "_Fine_!" My shrieking immediately cut off, eyes opening and head righting itself from its tossed back position.

"What?"

"_Fine_," he repeated through gritted teeth, eyes volcanic with exasperation as they seared into mine, "I'll consider your stupid idea." My face instantly flooded with triumph, and without really thinking, I threw my hands in the air and started zooming around him celebratory circles. "_Stop with the fucking circles_!"

He reached out and grabbed the end of my broom in frustration, jerking me to such a rough and sudden halt that it sent me lurching forward. I scrambled to regain some sort of balance, not having been expecting the sudden momentum shift, but before I knew it, I'd careened right off my broom and was falling to the ground.

For all of half a second.

Oliver's hands were on either side of my waist before I could so much as scream, pulling me onto his broomstick with a decisive sweep. Yes, I am aware of explicitly sexual double meaning of this action, and I choose to ignore it. For now. I may think about it lat—

_Anyway_, before I can even process what's happening, my broom is clattering onto the ground whilst I am decidedly not. In fact, I'm face-to-face with Wood, whose eyes are wild and hands have swept up to tightly cup my face. "You okay?" His voice is stern, tight.

"I'm… fine," I managed, struggling to wade through the heady feeling clouding my thoughts. His accent just got so damn _Scottish_ whenever he worried… all the r's rolled just a little bit longer, the vowels softened just a little bit further…

"I'm sorry, Wiles, I didn't—I wasn't—your hands weren't even on the broom, I should have—" he shook his head distractedly, too many thoughts assaulting him at once, and I felt a sharp sadness wash over me without any sort of warning. It was just… I mean, how much of his life was he going to spend feeling guilty about things?

"Oliver," I said, and in a moment of boldness I placed my hand over the one he had against my cheek, causing his distraught gaze to flicker back up to mine, "I'm fine. It's not like I hit the ground."

"But you could've," he replied darkly.

"But I didn't," I countered, the beginnings of a smirk twitching at my lips. "Besides, even if I had, I kind of deserved it."

"Jesus, Andy, don't say that," he muttered, irritated with how flippantly I regarded things like this, and I rolled my eyes.

"Wood, please. I was being annoying."

"You were being _fucking_ annoying, but you could've broken your neck from this height."

"But I _didn't_."

"Yeah, but you _could've_."

"Alright, I could've, _ahh_," I said sardonically, waving my hand about in mock distress. "You're a horrible person that needs to go join an Eastern European monastery and practice self-mutilation till you die." I shot him a dry look. "People make mistakes, Oliver. Get over it. I don't feel guilty about the Quaffle that hit your head."

His lips twitched involuntarily at this. "That hurt."

The amusement in his voice was like music, and I couldn't help but grin. "Doesn't be such a pansy."

"You know, I thought you were annoying naturally, but now that I've seen you _trying_—"

"It's pretty incredible, isn't it? I learned how to do it from my step-mum."

"The one that's on a mission to make you an actual girl?"

An odd sort of warmth flooded me at the fact that he remembered. "That's the one."

"She taught you well." His face fell flat after a moment, "Does the back of my broom really say 'diva'?"

I bit down on my lip to keep from laughing. "What do you think?"

"I think that, knowing you, it not only says 'diva', it says 'diva' in bright pink capital letters."

My smile was Cheshire. "You forgot 'glittery'."

"Bloody hell," he groaned, dropping his head back in resignation. "How long has it been there?"

"You don't want to know."

"You're right—I really don't."

I chuckled at his look of complete misery, about to offer to take it off, when a flicker of movement behind him caught my eye. I glanced his over his shoulder to see Alicia waving her arms from a few dozen feet away, mouthing something I couldn't quite make out. I squinted at her for a few moments until she rolled her eyes and pointed at something on the ground.

My eyes followed the direction of her finger, down the stands, past the commentator booth, around the concession stand, straight to the… locker room. And then they flattened. Of course. I lifted my gaze back up and shot her a glare, adding in a festive little hand gesture for good measure, and she ruffled in outrage.

"Flint's team's here," Wood suddenly muttered, spotting something behind me and lifting his hand to glance at his watch. "We must've gone over time." At this, he shot me a pointed look, and I grinned sheepishly in return. "Alright, everybody hit the locker rooms, practice is over! I don't have time to go over stats and logistics, but I'll do it at the start of our next practice, which _is_…?"

"Saturday, 8 AM," everyone chorused miserably.

"Spot on—see you Saturday!" he called out, before promptly straightening to look back at me. "I don't want to fly with you facing me, it's not safe."

I rolled my eyes. "Wood, Katie and I fly like this all the time. It's fun, we gossip."

"Turn around."

"Seriously?"

"I'll help you, if you—"

"I know how to turn around on a broom, Oliver," I said, a bit annoyed. "I've been flying for as long as you have, in case you forgot."

"Go ahead, then."

He stared at me expectantly and I sighed, wrapping both my hands around the same point on the handle and flipping about in one swift motion. My back was instantly against his chest, his broad shoulders swallowing my comparatively small frame as his hands moved forward—one wrapping around my waist, the other gripping the handle in front of me.

I was hit with the overwhelming urge to release all the tension in my body and melt against him, to let the warmth and smell of him envelope me completely, and it was fucking hard to keep composed. Every dip and ridge of his body matched so perfectly with every line and curve of mine, and the feeling of it was like putting together the last two pieces of a giant jigsaw puzzle that's been troubling you for years. It just…

Well. There's no way to describe it without sounding like a hallmark card, so I'll shut up.

"You're serious about this boat thing, aren't you?"

His voice was low and warm against my ear as he flew down to the ground, careful not to go too fast, and I was caught between rolling my eyes at his pace and shivering at his proximity. "Yeah, I am. I really think it's exactly the kind of twist we're looking for."

He thought about this for a moment. Then, "Let's make a deal, alright? If you find the boat, the company, the insurance, whatever—iron out all the details and present me with a foolproof plan—then I'll…" he sighed, shaking his head. "Then I'll agree to It."

"_Really_!?" It was an exuberant shriek that annoyed even me.

"It has to be _foolproof_, Wiles—if there's even a _single_ hole or risk that hasn't been accounted for—"

"_Thankyouthankyouthankyouthan kyou_!"

"—won't hesitate to tell McGonagall that it's shit—"

"You won't have to, I swear! This is going to be the best bloody plan you've ever seen!"

He rolled his eyes with a cynical expression, though I could tell his lips were twitching with the smile he was holding back. Just as we were about to touch down on the ground, however, a leering whistle pierced through the air.

"Well, well, well." Flint. Only a half-troll could have such an oafish, inbred sounding voice. "What have we here?"

Wood swiveled around and we came face-to-face with half of the Slytherin team, the other half having taken to the pitch already.

"At least when I shagged her, I had the decency to do it in a broom closet," Viper drawled in his insouciant way, flicking a speck of lint from his otherwise immaculate robes.

Wood's grip tightened the slightest bit around my waist, forcing me back against him, and I indulged him just to keep him calm. Okay, and maybe because it made me feel spectacularly girly and coddled to have someone holding me all protectively, but _mostly_ to keep him calm.

Really.

"Viper," I said with a frosty smile. "Long time no see. How're your balls doing? Last I checked, they were shoved pretty far up your abdomen."

He smirked luxuriously. "You're welcome to see for yourself, darling."

"I'd love too, really, but it'd take too much time to find them." His simper dropped into a petty scowl and I mimicked his former smirk. "Maybe some other time."

His lip curled insufferably. "Please—like a boorish, STD-infested Gryffindor like you would even _get_ another shot with me. Look at you, you're—"

"You don't have to put up with this," Wood cut in with a tight mutter, swooping down and dropping me onto my feet before swinging himself off his broom and tossing it to the ground. "How you doing, Viper?" He was advancing on the sinewy Bulgarian with threateningly quick strides, shrugging off the heavy robes of his Quidditch kit. "Well, I take it?"

His voice was lined with fake friendliness, and Viper's face instantly paled as he stepped behind his far beefier counterpart, Marcus Flint. Wood halted at this, cynical amusement filling his gaze. "I thought you said you didn't let girls onto your team, Flint?"

"We like to protect our special weapons," Flint spat out, and Wood chuckled darkly.

"Well, you obviously aren't doing a very good job, since someone managed cut Viper's special weapons clean off."

"Really?" Viper drawled from behind Flint. "Then what did I fuck your girlfriend with?"

"Apparently your imagination," I muttered to myself, annoyed with this whole situation, though no one paid me any attention. That's right. Don't mind me; I'm just the punching bag.

"You know, Viper, one of these days, I'm going to get a hold of you when none of your little bodyguards are around, and _bloody hell_ I'm going to enjoy it."

"Never took you for a poof, Wood."

"Really? Because I've taken you for one since the day I met you."

"I reckon your mum would beg to diff—"

"Okay, really, _enough_," I snapped, irritated. "This banter is awful—your mum taunts? That's _disgraceful_. You're a bloody Slytherin, Viper, if you can't be cunning and cheeky, what good are you?" Heaving an annoyed sigh, I whirled away toward the locker rooms.

Behind me, I heard them all fall silent.

Then, "Are 'your mum' taunts really that bad?"

"I dunno, I always thought they had a zing about them…"

"Classic, really…"

"Stupid Gryffindors…"

I shook my head, eyes veering toward the back of my skill. People just didn't know how to be archenemies these days. On the plus side, however… my smile grew absolutely wicked as I shoved the door to the locker room open, spinning around in whimsical circles. "Phase one is complete!"

Katie's brow furrowed. "Phase one of what?"

"Oh, nothing…"

Alicia scoffed. "She has this stupid plan that doesn't involve shagging anyone…"

Whatever. They'll find out soon enough—this plan's going to go by in the blink of an eye. For now, however, I think I'll just jump to phase five.

In case you forgot, that's 'revel in my brilliance'.

Bitches.


	23. The Banquet Plan Road Less Traveled

**Settling the Score**

The Banquet Plan Road Less Traveled

"…leaves sixty-five galleons for the band and plenty for the decorations, but all of the boat rental prices are ridiculously high because of some insurance incident with paraplegic gno—are you even _listening _to me?"

Angelina made no indication of hearing me, shrewd hazel eyes focused on a point just above my shoulder. We were seated across from one another in the overstuffed armchairs of the Gryffindor common room, me knee-deep in research for my banquet pitch to Wood and Angelina working on a Potions essay, though I was fairly certain something by the window had caught her attention because bitch was totally ignoring me.

"Johnson!"

"_Shh_," she shushed, flicking up a silencing finger and narrowing her eyes even further. Her lips were pursed into their trademark 'contemplative Prefect frown', and despite my irritation, I knew better than to question her. Angelina's Prefect frown meant business.

Instead, I glanced over my shoulder and followed her line of vision, eyebrows arching when my gaze landed on none other than a certain Mr. Harris and a certain Ms. Spinnet. They looked to be in the middle of a quite a row—or at least, Alicia did. She was shouting and thrusting her hands in the air dramatically whereas Gabe was merely lounging back against the wall, tossing an apple from hand to hand, shoulders loose and totally at ease.

Merlin, it was weird to see them interacting so much. Both of them were part of such separate parts of my life—Alicia was my mental best mate and Gabe was my Arithmancy best mate, and prior to a week ago, there had been no overlap between those categories. Now, however, the two were developing a whole relationship entirely independent of me, and it was pretty cool.

Weird, but cool.

"—not going to write a bloody _gossip_ column! This is hair-color profiling—would Aiden have asked an ugly brunette to do this!?"

Gabe chuckled. "No."

"That grounds for a discrimination lawsuit!"

"Not really, seeing as you were offered a position, not denied one," he pointed out easily, apple still jumping from hand to hand, and Alicia bristled in outrage.

"I _have _been denied one! The position of a serious journalist! One who writes gutting pieces and shocks her readers and—"

"—joins a paper to get the gay bloke she's been stalking to fancy her back?" he interjected, apple halting in his hand as his brow raised into a rather cutting expression. Alicia faltered a bit at the severity of the look, and he rolled his eyes to diffuse the accusation in them. "You're not a journalist, Locks, you're a girl with a crush—the least you can do is be honest with yourself about it."

"Would you _stop _calling me that?"

"What?"

"Locks, Goldie, or any other annoying variation of Goldilocks!"

"Ah, that," he chuckled, resuming tossing his apple from hand to hand. She stared at him expectantly, eyes blazing with vexation, and after a moment he realized she'd asked a question. "Oh, right—no."

"_No_?"

"I like Goldilocks—it suits you better than Alicia," he replied, and without any sort of warning, Alicia reached out and smacked the apple out of his hand. I choked out a laugh—she was so unnecessarily violent, it was great.

"That was rude," he pointed out, watching the apple roll under the feet of an absently walking fourth year and tripping the boy up. At the glare he received, he pointed at Alicia. "All her." The boy glanced at Alicia and fell into a lovesick daze, and I rolled my eyes in tandem with Gabe—typical.

"First of all, _buck-o_, rude is calling someone something they don't want to be called," Alicia snapped, bringing his attention back to her. "Second of all, I'm not going to write a fucking gossip column, so Aiden can bloody well _suck it_. Third of all—"

"Your boy-toy just walked in," Gabe interjected, eyes straying over her shoulder to the tall, skinny boy with platinum blonde hair who'd just traipsed through the portrait hole. His smile was lopsided and a bit wicked, and Alicia's voice lowered into a hiss.

"Don't call him that!"

"Sorry: the poof you stalk just walked in."

"_You_—"

"Oi, Sebastian!" Gabe called out, eyes dancing. "How's the Donahue article coming along?"

Alicia's face flashed with rage before forcing itself into a dazzling smile. "Sebastian!" she greeted, turning around and switching into all out vixen mode—shoulders thrown back, hips jutted out, and eyes sparkling with all kinds of forbidden promises.

A fifth year boy playing Exploding Snap fainted.

"Gabriel Harris and Alicia Spinnet," Sebastian purred, sidling up to them with dark, seductive eyes, "my two favorite blondes." Alicia's eyes lit up with excitement whilst Gabe's grew immensely amused. "The Donahue article is going _swimmingly, _Gabriel—nothing short of scintillating, I assure you."

"Brilliant," Gabe replied with a grin, clapping a jovial hand on Sebastian's shoulder. "I expect nothing less of our most controversial columnist."

Sebastian looked like he was going to orgasm right then and there, and I had to stuff a pillow into my mouth to keep from howling. Angelina shot me a glare and I managed an apologetic nod, struggling to keep it together.

"The Donahue article—is that the one about the communist groups rioting in Durmstrang?" she asked, taking a rather violent step toward Sebastian and forcing Gabe to step back. The scruffy blonde obliged easily, leaning back against the wall and watching her with a wry expression.

"That's the one—loaded piece, really," Sebastian commented, eyes sweeping over Gabe's leanly muscled form from over her shoulder. "Gabriel always assigns the best pieces."

"Flattery only works with Aiden, Melmoth," Gabe replied, lips quirking at one corner, and Alicia's fingers began curling into fists.

"Flattery makes it sound like it isn't true, and I'm being nothing less than _sanctimoniously_ honest, darling." This statement came loaded with flirtation, and Gabe's face flickered a bit uncertainly.

"Well, thanks then," he offered, running an unsure hand through his hair, and Sebastian licked his lips at the motion.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Alicia suddenly snapped, whirling around to face Gabe with a furious look. He parted his mouth to say something but Sebastian's velvety voice cut him off.

"Actually, I'm meeting Aiden in forty-five and in desperate need of a nap, so I'd best be off," he said, giving an airy wave, "but I'll see you both at the staff meeting. Cheers!"

"Bye, Sebastian!" Alicia called cheerily, waiting for him to disappear up the stairs before rounding back on Gabe with a snarl, "If I had a knife on me, I would slit your throat and watch you _die_."

"That's festive," he commented idly.

"Look, I don't know what twisted game you're playing at—"

"I'm not playing at anything, Locks, I just asked him how his article was coming along."

She scoffed, "_Yeah_, and leaned back against the wall all sexily so he could drool at you."

He arched a brow at this. "First of all, you shoved me back: seeing as I was already standing by the wall, I really had no other option besides leaning back against it. Second of all—sexily, you said?" At this, his expression became charmingly cocky, and Alicia's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Yes. And?"

He shrugged, voice teasing. "Didn't realize I was so staggeringly seductive without even trying."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, please: you're good-looking. Good-looking people don't have to _try _and be sexy—we just are."

He snorted at this. "We?"

She looked confused again. "Yes, we. You and I. Us—Merlin, you're Chief Editor of a paper?"

He looked entirely incredulous, and I realized that not everyone was used to the tower of staggering self-confidence that was Alicia Spinnet. Humbleness was a waste of time to her—she knew she was bloody fucking gorgeous and she saw no use in pretending like she wasn't. She was insecure about other things, sure, but she never pretended to be unsure about her looks.

And to be honest, it made her a hell of a lot more bearable. If she were one of those gorgeous girls that was constantly belittling herself and calling herself ugly, we would've all smacked her in the face. Granted, that was because we were her best friends—everyone else could probably do with just a _little_ more modesty from her…

But that was what made her Alicia.

"You are amazingly self-assured," Gabe finally managed to say, surprise rippled with a flicker of curiosity, and Alicia rolled her eyes.

"Self-assured, blunt, bitchy, whatever," she listed, waving an errant hand. "Doesn't change the fact that you were hitting on Sebastian." He laughed openly at this, tossing his head back and everything, and she ruffled in outrage. "Don't even try to deny it, I saw you!"

"Why the _bloody_ hell would I be hitting on a bloke?" he asked, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of the accusation. "I like girls, in case you forgot."

"You sure about that?" she countered, stare bright with challenge, and his playful eyes slowly grew hooded.

"Want proof?"

And just like that—_bam_. Something changed in the air between them. I couldn't pinpoint it exactly, but whatever it was, it was sexual. I obviously wasn't the only one who noticed it, because within less than a second, ten viciously overeager fingers were digging into my shoulders. "Jesus!" I hissed, whipping around and coming face-to-face with none other than Katie. "Claws in, Kats!"

Upon hearing the name, Angelina glanced over her shoulder and groaned. "Oh, great."

"How did I not know about this?" Katie demanded in a zealous whisper, wide eyes glued on Alicia and Gabe, and Angelina shook her head as I shrugged her hands off.

"Nothing's going on, Kats."

"Yeah, like hell it isn't—look at them!" she countered, her whole countenance buzzing, and Angelina and I both turned around to look again. Okay, to be fair, they looked like a bloody Polo ad—you know the ones where the insanely gorgeous girl in a preppy school uniform and the scruffily handsome bloke in the Oxford shirt and undone tie look like they want to tear each others clothes off (but don't for the sake of advertising said clothes)?

Yeah. The picturesque view of the lake and Quidditch pitch they were standing in front of didn't exactly help, and for a moment, I forgot we were supposed to be dissuading Katie and wanted nothing more than a camera. I could sell this shit and make millions! Now if only Alicia would stop grimacing like that…

"—need to stop getting these obsessions with people getting together! Back me up here, Andy."

I snapped out of my entrepreneurial musings and glanced over to see Angelina and Katie staring at me, the former pointedly and the latter defensively. Uh-oh. Bad situation. "I… think both of you make valid points," I said randomly, putting on my best diplomat voice.

Angelina scoffed. "Whatever—_I _think it's unhealthy."

"Well, this isn't The World According to Angelina, is it?" Katie snapped rather sourly, crossing her arms, and I rolled my eyes: the shitty part about living with three other girls who just so happen to be your best mates is that your periods tend to synchronize. In other words, everyone's a bitch at the same time, and the unnecessary fight in front of me was exhibit A.

Thus, I simply sunk back into my seat, trying to block their bickering out and picking my notebook back up. I had a flawless plan to formulate and listening to their bitching wasn't part of it. "Finding the Boat" was scribbled at the top of the page my notebook was opened to, and I sighed a bit tiredly at the thought of it.

You see, it turns out Wood was kind of right about this whole 'not that simple' thing: there was actually a lot to take into account if we wanted to rent a boat. First of all, what _kind_ of boat: I'd already called a few of the main companies, but they all turned out to be muggle and had no idea how the hell I expected to get a giant yacht into the middle of an isolated lake.

Narrow-minded, really.

Then, I'd contacted Durmstrang to see if we could potentially borrow one of their boats (since they were all Nordic and into that kind of thing), but after being transferred to like seventeen different people, they told me that they didn't have any boats that were nice enough for this kind of occasion—just trade boats and battleships. They told me of a few other places to try, and I did, but all of them had conflicts with the date or were way too expensive for what we were looking for.

Thus, I was kind of stuck. Without the boat, I couldn't really iron out any of the other details because all of them depended on the layout of the ship and amenities it came with. This was just wonderful.

"Bonjour, mes amies!"

Speaking of wonderful.

"Fiona, hey!" Katie greeted, smile springing up on both her and Angelina's faces as the prissy cow glided into common room, blonde hair gathered into an elegant French twist. "You're back!

"How was Paris?" Angelina asked, and I promptly realized why everything seemed to have been going so smoothly for the past few days: Fiona had been in another country. Coincidence? I think not.

"Très magnifique! The wedding was _stunning_—tellement belle," she gushed, French accent sophisticated and flawless. I rolled my eyes at how pretentious she sounded.

"I bet your sister's happy—all that worrying for nothing," Katie teased, and Fiona laughed her delicate little trill of a laugh.

"She's in absolute bliss, of course. Her and William are probably clinking champagne glasses on a beach in Portugal as we speak."

"That sounds like _heaven,_" Angelina said, and Fiona waved a hand.

"That's nothing: next up is gondolas in Venice, bungalows on the coast of Morocco, vineyards in the Spanish countryside…" she trailed off at their stunned looks, lips pursing into a self-satisfied smirk. "Price women have impeccable taste in men."

Angelina and Katie gave jealous murmurs of assent, entirely missing the cutting look Fiona decided to shoot me. I gave her a blindingly fake smile in return, prompting her to scoff dramatically and divert her eyes. Yeah, that's right, bitch—look away.

"Anyway, I'm off to shower—I must look dreadful from all the traveling," she said, knowing damn well she looked like she'd just walked off a Parisian runway, "but I'll see you girls around."

"Later, Fi," they chorused as she sauntered off, and I almost gagged at the nickname—really?

"Fi?" I mouthed to them, eyes bright with disgust, and they both rolled their eyes and ignored me. Kats, Angelina, and Alicia all thought my hate for her was exaggerated and childish, but I didn't care—she was a class A cow and I could be as immature about it as I wanted to be.

"Oh, right," 'Fi' suddenly said, stopping at the staircase and spinning about with a flourish of her skirt, "you haven't by chance seen Oliver around, have you?" My grip on my quill tightened and she noticed. "Apparently he has some sort of ridiculous surprise for me, so I don't want to keep him waiting too long…"

"He's training with Fred and George right now, but he should be done by six or so," Angelina replied obliviously; at least Katie had the decency to stay quiet. "Maybe after dinner?"

"Sounds perfect," she replied, though before she could turn back around, I found myself speaking.

"He's busy after dinner."

She halted instantly, back stiffening the slightest bit as her eyes snapped over to mine. "Oh?"

"Yep," I replied purposefully evasively, glancing back down at my notebook and scribbling something random down. I felt her frigid stare burning holes into my head but I dutifully ignored it, bringing my quill to my mouth and chewing on the end instead. Two could play this nonchalant bitch game.

"Doing what, exactly?" she eventually asked in a falsely light voice, and I had the frivolous and completely insane urge to respond with 'me'.

Fortunately, I managed to tailor my answer into a casual, "Just discussing some things."

Her grip on the banister tightened ever so slightly. "With you?"

No, with my sodding grandmother. "Yes, with me," I confirmed, glancing up and sending her a brief, faux-friendly smile before dropping my gaze back down to my notebook.

She merely stood there for a few seconds, tense and irritated and absolutely _itching_ to know what we were meeting about, and I knew I had her. She couldn't ask about it without being too obvious. Ladies and gentlemen, I had offically out-subtled the subtle, out-bitched the bitch, out-frigided the frigid—I'd beaten that slag at her own ice-cold little game.

That is, of course, until Alicia bulldozed into the picture and opened her big fat fucking mouth. "Do I look like the kind of person that writes a bloody _gossip _column?" she spat as she plunked herself into the seat next to me, shoving my feet off the armrest with an angry huff.

"Well, let's see, shall we?" Angelina said, tilting her head to the side in mock-appraisal. "Blonde hair… loves make-up… partial to pink… it's a tough call, but I'm going to say yes."

"Well, I'm going to say _fuck you_," Alicia snapped back, crossing her arms with a vexed growl before spotting Fiona's uselessly loitering form by the stairs. "Oh, hey Fiona." I almost cheered at the flatness in her voice—_finally_, someone who recognized how fake she was.

"Hi, Alicia—everything alright?" she asked, tilting her head to side with completely feigned concern, and Alicia waved her off with an incoherent grumble.

God, I love Alicia.

"What's this about a gossip column, then?" Katie ventured after a moment, still rather miffed at Angelina and thus prone to taking Alicia's side, and Alicia scowled.

"Aiden wants me to write a gossip section for the _Wobbler_—'Ask Alicia!'," she trilled sarcastically, shaking her head in disgust. "Such a bloody load of hipprogriff shit. I know you have that meeting with Wood for banquet rubbish tonight, Andy, but if there's any way you can get out of it, I could really use a night of bitching by the lake."

God, I hate Alicia.

"Banquet rubbish?" Fiona predictably asked, having a perfect way in to the conversation. Now it just seemed like she was curious about the banquet. Brilliant.

"McGonagall's forcing Andy and Oliver to plan the Gryffindor banquet," Alicia growled irritably, making matters worse. "They have a bunch of mandatory meetings every week—whatever, point is my life sucks." Fiona's expression was slowly veering into one of extreme satisfaction, and I had to fight back the urge to hex her right then and there.

"Mandatory meetings, hm?"

This is the last of the sequential chapters that ever got written: what follows is my kind of crazy attempt at wrapping everything up in a few snippets. When this story (and my entire account) got deleted from HPFF entirely out of the blue, I took it as a sign that I needed to move on to original fiction. My parents and friends had been hounding me about getting serious about the book I'd been plotting for years, and finding a new place to put this story back up/keep updating it would would just draw me back into the whole fanfiction world I was too desperate to keep using as a crutch. That said, the following for the this story over at HPFF was comprised of some of the best people I've ever had the joy of interacting with, and reading over the reviews I've gotten here, I know the same can be said. I posted a link up with the entire story on my profile, but I know some of you really like reading stories in this kind of format, so I'm very hastily (notice the lack of author's notes) putting it up for you here. Also, I'm sure a lot of you don't check profile pages, so again, it's the least I can do. Sorry it took me so long - life's been pretty crazy - but I hope the 37 page epilogue (obnoxious, I know - I ramble like a freaking MOFO) gives you all the closure you seriously deserve for sticking with me on this. Also, if you're just a casual reader and you're all 'why the hell is this chick being so sappy and thanking us so much, I barely know what this story is' , sorry! It's more geared toward the incredible people that went out of their way to find me/wish me luck/see if there was anything else I could send them regarding the story when it got deleted. But I'm sure you're kickass, too ;) SO LET ME LOVE YOU.


	24. Epilogue: Part One

**Settling the Score**

Epilogue: Part One

Alright. So. I need to preface the shit out of this epilogue-type-thing because it's essentially a schizophrenic, typo-ridden collection of a few future Andy/Oliver tidbits I wrote for STS and never got a chance to actually post and a bunch of half-brained new stuff that tries to tie everything up. There are no beginnings to them, no endings to them, and lots of randomness, so I'll start them off with a summary of the events that should've lead up to where they pick up and try and make sense of them after they cut off. Someone mentioned that it feels a lot like one of Andy's best friends is gossiping with you/telling you what went down with her and Oliver in the non-story sections, so let's go with that.

GOSSIP TIME.

To begin with, you guys left off at chapter 23ish, which had Andy desperately trying to get a foolproof plan together for her boat banquet idea so that Wood would get over his inner grandpa and approve it. I seldom plan too far into the future with fanfics (most of my plot points develop as I'm writing) so I can't get too specific, but I can tell you this much: Andy does eventually get a plan together. She has an immense amount of difficulty finding a ship, but when she does, it's a 1920s ghost ship Nearly Headless Nick happens to mention over dinner that was famous for its jazzy soirees. She books it, stays up all night writing up an exhaustive list of how much everything would cost, how much time it would take, what permissions they would need, etc., and bursts into the 7th Year Boy's Dormitories at 5 AM the next morning.

**Snippet 1:**

The door smacked against the wall with all the subtlety of two cymbals crashing together, and a chorus of groans rang out from the ring of rumpled beds encircling the room. "V'been shot," the bloke in the bed nearest to me moaned, flinging a dramatic arm over his unconscious face. It took me a second to realize it was Gabe. "Mum… mum, help! I've been… I… shot… "

Too tired to even bother with him, I snapped my gaze over to Wood's four poster—it was deep in the left corner of the room, easily distinguished by the Quidditch kit draped over the footboard and the broom polish sitting on the adjacent trunk. The curtains appeared to be drawn, so I set my jaw and marched across the room, nearly tripping over seventeen different recklessly strewn objects in the process.

"Jesus, is this a room or an obstacle course?" I hissed upon reaching his bed, leaning against one of the posters to rub my newly bruised ankle. If he heard me, he gave no indication, for his sheets didn't so much as rustle, and I briefly wondered if he was a deep or light sleeper.

Guess I was about to find out.

"Rise and shine," I greeted with all the plucky pep of a Death Eater, reaching up and snapping his curtains open with a flick of my wrist, though to my surprise, his bed was empty. Hell, it was_made_. I frowned, leaning forward to peer into the darkness when the door to the bathroom suddenly swung open and made me jump about twenty feet into the air. "Bloody hell!"

I whirled around and saw Wood standing in the doorway, hair tousled, skin damp, clad in nothing but the towel slung loosely around his hips. His brows were raised, expression one of mild consternation, and I floundered there for a moment, mouth opening and closing. "You—I—er." I shoved a hasty hand in my hair, forcing my eyes up to his face and narrowing them into glare. "Why are you awake?"

His brow furrowed. "I'm pretty sure I'm the one who gets to ask the accusatory questions in this scenario."

I scoffed in a needlessly defensive manner. "Ask away."

"Alright, let's start with something crazy like what the hell are you doing here?"

"Shut _up_," someone who sounded a lot like Zach Davies groaned, flinging a pillow in Wood's direction and missing him by about ten feet. I rolled my eyes—born Chaser, that one.

"Giving you this," I replied, settling my glare back on Wood and lifting the giant folder in my hand.

He frowned. "What's that?"

"_This,_" I growled, striding up to him in all my wild-haired, dark-circled, over-caffeinated glory and smacking the folder into his chest, "is the best banquet plan you will ever encounter in your entire bloody life." He arched a brow in amusement, the fresh, crisp scent of his soap clinging to his skin like a jacket, and I just barely resisted the urge to inhale more deeply. "You're going to read it and you're going to love it."

His lips twitched. "Am I?"

My gaze steeled. "Only if you value your life. Goodnight." I whirled around before he could say anything and stalked across the room, the intermittent stumbling doing little to make my Head Bitch In Charge approach more believable.

"It's morning," he called after me just as I reached the door, and I replied by slamming it shut behind me with a dramatic _SMACK_.

"V'been shot," the Gabe moaned again from behind the door.

I rolled my eyes. Idiots.

**End of Snippet 1.**

Okay, from this point, there's going to be some push and pull between the world's most hard-headed duo until Wood finally admits that Andy's plan is pretty foolproof. He's actually pretty damn impressed by how thorough she was – he really didn't think she had that in her. Part of him finds her stubbornness and dedication ridiculous, but another part finds the lengths she's willing to go endearing. So they end up going with the ghost ship and planning a bunch of stuff. Along the way, the snippet below happens, and you can see at that point, they've started becoming legit friends. They've picked up on little details about each other from late nights and Kitchens runs and psychotically stressful strategy sessions, and they've opened up a bit more about their lives. In this particular part, the two of them have gone to Hogsmeade to buy some decorations, and they decide to make a stop along the way. After I wrote it I realized Florean's was in Diagon Alley, but whatever. Brooooaden your miiiinds!

**Snippet 2:**

"Oh, right, because that's a perfectly normal way to go about li—" my words cut off as I realized we'd just walked through the door of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, face crumpling. "Why are we at Fortescue's?"

"If I have to listen to your whining, I'll need something to counteract the headache," he supplied a bit sourly, making my confused expression flatten into an irritated one. Well, weren't we just Mr. Attitude?

"It's like negative a thousand degrees outside," I pointed out, dragging to a halt by a large window and crossing my arms in front of my chest a bit snippily.

"And?"

I tossed his back a flat look. "Ice cream happens to be cold."

"Get out of town!" he replied in mock fascination, glancing over his shoulder with a bewildered expression as he made his way to the counter. "Is that why the word 'ice' is in it?"

"You're funny."

He shot me the briefest of smug looks before swiveling back around, placing his hands on the ledge of the counter and perusing the overhanging menu. I simply rolled my eyes—_git_. Honestly, who craved ice cream in the middle of a blizzard?

Idly, I let my gaze stray about the shop, struck by how different it looked when there was no one in it. Usually, Fortescue's was jam-packed with students eager to get their fix ('coz really, no ice cream even compared to Fortescue's ice cream), but since we'd come on a non-scheduled weekend, it was actually remarkably empty.

My eyes suddenly lit up with realization. Fortescue's was empty. That meant the coveted Teacup table was empty! My gaze snapped over to the nook by the corner windows, bright and excited, and sure enough, there was the giant blue teacup, totally vacant. "No sodding way!" I cried, ridiculously thrilled over something so stupid, but you don't understand—this table was _never _empty.

_Ever_.

I'd been going to Hogwarts for five and a half years now, and not _once_ had I had a chance to sit in the Teacup—it was occupied from open to close with giggling girls, groups of friends, chatting couples, irritating tourists, you name it. And how here it was, empty. Inviting. Totally available for me to lounge in it for as long as I wanted.

Can we say 'holler'?

Bad mood forgotten, I skipped over to the cup, climbing in giddily and settling myself on the overstuffed cushions sprawled over the floor. This was _nice_. Granted, it was a bit small, and I had no idea how groups of five shoved themselves into it on a daily basis, but it was still utterly _brilliant_. This was a huge achievement—I could officially say I'd sat in the Teacup!

"Oh, Merlin." I glanced up and met Wood's dark, flattened gaze, his hands holding two mugs of something steaming and drowning in whipped cream. "You're joking, right?"

I scowled—he was staring at the Teacup like it was an annoying little sibling he had to baby-sit. Blasphemy! "Of course not, why would I be joking? It's the Teacup!"

"Exactly," he drawled, a wry sort of humor creeping into his tone, and I felt the wonderfully mature urge to stick my tongue out at him, "otherwise known as the biggest gimmick in Hogsmeade."

I crossed my arms, settling back against the curve of the cup with a stubborn air. "Well, _you_ can sit wherever you want, but I've been waiting years to do this, so I'm staying here."

He stared at me for a moment, the annoyance in his eyes clashing somewhat with the twitch of amusement at the corners of his lips, before sighing darkly. "You're ridiculous," he conceded, carefully climbing into the cup so as to avoid too much sloshing within the mugs he was holding.

"And you're no fun," I grumbled back, scooting over slightly so that he could sit down, which he promptly did. A wave of warmth immediately washed over me, spurred by the heat of his body so close to mine, but I determinedly ignored it, instead inching back so that I was as far away from him as possible.

There was no need to make things complicated.

"This is spectacularly uncomfortable," he said, gazing around the interior of the cup, and I choked out a laugh at the sight of him—his legs were far too long for the diameter, tall frame bent at a rather awkward angle to try and accommodate itself within the limited space. How adorable. "People seriously wait in line for this?"

"People that aren't six feet tall do," I snorted, causing his expression to immediately grow cheeky.

"You mean six foot _two_—"

"Yeah, yeah," I drawled, waving a hand, and he merely grinned at my predictable dismissal.

"Here," he said, holding one of the mugs up to me, and for the first time, it occurred to me that he'd gotten me something. His expression grew expectant as I merely stared at it, caught off-guard. "What, is hot chocolate not acceptable in winter either?"

"Oh, no, it's just…" I said, trying but failing to ignore the pleased tingle climbing up my spine as I tentatively took hold of the mug, "I, er, thought you were getting ice cream."

He smirked. "Ice cream happens to be cold."

I glared at him: mocking little git. "I bet an extremely wise person told you that."

"Oh, definitely—wisest person I've ever met," he agreed. "Same one that thought sitting in a teacup would be fun."

"Okay, a) sitting in a teacup _is_ fun, and b) no one's making you sit here," I retorted, cradling the warm mug between my palms. "If you hate it so much, move."

"You forgot to thank me for your hot chocolate," he observed, sidestepping the point fluidly.

"Funny, I forgot to ask you for it, too."

"Dear God, woman," he exclaimed, shaking his head with a low chuckle, "you're absolutely _awful_ at saying thank-you. It's actually kind of incredible."

"I'm not awful at saying thank-you!"

"Oh, really?"

"Really, I'm just not used to saying it to you," I retorted, knowing that I was being uselessly stubborn about this but unable to do anything about it.

"Fine, well now that the initial surprise is over," he said, proceeding to wave his free hand in a prompting motion.

I glowered slightly. "You're being annoying."

He wrinkled his nose. "No, I don't think that's how it goes…"

"You're really not supposed to demand gratitude from people, Wood. It's generally a voluntary kind of thing."

"Starts with a 'tha' sound, I believe…"

I sighed, half-annoyed, half-amused, as he continued to pretend to work out the phonetics of the word 'thanks', his face scrunched up in deep thought. He really was insufferable. Scraping my finger just along the surface of the tower of whipped cream in my mug, I leaned forward and smeared it across his cheek.

He snapped out of his mock-contemplation as I settled back, smirking. "Thanks for the hot chocolate, Oliver."

He glowered at me, entirely unamused. "Seriously? What are you, four?" And then, with lightning-like reflexes, he swiped at his own whipped cream and smudged it on the tip of my nose.

I laughed despite myself as he grinned, sly and victorious. "You're such a little kid."

"But I still won."

"Won what, exactly?"

"The right to say we're done with this teacup," he announced, setting his mug down and reaching back to the ledge of the cup, starting to lift himself from his sitting position.

"You're done with it—I'm just getting started," I countered, settling myself even deeper within the cushions and taking a sip of my drink. Surprise fluttered through me, eyes flickering shut for a moment as I savored the taste—it was dark chocolate. I _adored_ dark chocolate. But there was no way…

My eyes opened slowly, gaze landing on Wood. He was watching me with an amused expression, perched against the ledge of the cup. "Good?" he asked.

"Spectacular," I replied, brow slightly furrowed. "Dark chocolate, huh?"

"It was the special."

I refused to feel disappointed. "That makes sense."

"It's also your favorite kind of chocolate."

I held his stare evenly, trying incredibly hard not to smile, to play it off like it was no big deal, but in the end, I felt the corners of my lips turning upward. "How'd you know?"

He snorted. "Are you joking? You've made like three hundred midnight runs to the Kitchens since we started planning this banquet, and every time you come back, you have six bars of dark chocolate stuffed in your bag."

"I do not!"

He arched a brow and I balked.

"Well, not _six_, anyway…"

"Beside the point."

**End of Snippet 2.**

As you can see, there's some genuine amicability there. They start having inside jokes that no one else gets peppered between their constant arguments and head-butting, and by the time the Banquet rolls around, they're actually pretty tight. HOWEVER, the week before the actual banquet, Andy has a run-in with Fiona that's not very pleasant and Fiona makes it clear that her and Wood are exclusive and Andy's being a nag. Andy sees Wood and Fiona looking pretty friendly and a few other people claim their dating as well, so Andy gets pissed off that Wood hasn't said anything to her (and way more jealous than she'd ever admit). They're friends, after all, he shouldn't have to hide that. Also, she's just irritated in general that he fell for someone as manipulative as Fiona. Thus, she goes all cold-shoulder on him because she's immature and blames it on being busy, and a vaguely confused Wood lets her be. Matters aren't helped when he ends up taking Fiona as his date.

Fast-forward to the banquet: Andy goes with Gabe with the intent of totally wingmanning for him and Alicia, but she ends up being so busy that she barely sees him. They gravitate toward each other naturally and end up flirt-fighting the whole night, as per their usual MO. At one point, there's a bit of a crisis with the ghosts and Charlotte, one of the volunteers, asks to meet Andy in the broom closet because she's freaking out and doesn't know what to do, and when Andy gets there, it's empty. She peers around and accidentally slips on the dusty floor, reaches out and grabs onto a shelf, rattles the whole thing, and ends up knocking a bucket of soapy water over. Naturally, the water lands right on her head, and Wood chooses that precise moment to walk in.

**Snippet 3**:

He peered into the closet, dark brows furrowing over his eyes for a moment before shooting upward in surprise. "_Andy_?"

Tentatively, I pushed the sopping mass of dark curls out of my face, trying my hardest to retain a shred of dignity as I tilted my chin up. "_Yes_?" The hard-edged question was followed by a loud, wet squelching noise as a rag slipped off the overhanging shelf, landing with a brilliant _smack_ on the top of my head.

Wood's lips twitched.

Yanking the soaking thing off hastily, I tossed it to the side, my hair once again in utter disarray atop my head. To think that barely half an hour ago, it had been a long, silky curtain of straight hair—Merlin, Angelina was going to kill me when she saw her two hours of slaving gone to waste.

Shoving my now very much curly hair back irritably, I added a little more oomph into my scowl, squaring my shoulders and staring him straight on. "What did you want?"

"I wanted to know where my supposed partner had run off to—the closing speeches start in ten minutes," he said, glancing around the broom closet with a faintly bemused look—I'd made quite a bit of a mess, what with all the digging and searching.

My glare veered into a glower. "You don't have to keep tabs on me, Oliver—I would've shown up on time. Besides, if anyone's been conveniently absent for most of the night, it's definitely you." A stubborn curl slipped out of the wet mass I'd pushed behind my ears, falling right across the center of my face. I shoved it away hastily.

"I'm not keeping tabs on you, Andy, I just wanted to make sure you remembered," he countered, frowning briefly as the same curl once again lodged itself in my face, causing me to growl and force it back yet again. "We haven't really talked since Tuesday, and I mean, let's be honest, you're not exactly Princess Punctuality."

"And you're not exactly Prince Stop-Breathing-Down-My-Ne—_argh_!" I snarled as the same damn curl once again slipped down so that it was right in my line of vision, bringing my hand up to violently swat it away, though to my surprise, a slightly rough grip stopped me.

My eyes flickered with confusion, shooting down to where Wood's fingers were wrapped around my wrist, holding it back. I scowled: I had a curl to shove, hello—but before I could voice this, my attention was once again refocused as I felt the limply hanging curl being carefully tucked behind my ear. My annoyance faded instantly. Funny how the feeling of fingertips skimming across your earlobe can do that to you…

Without really thinking, I glanced upward and met his gaze, startled to find his face far closer than it had been before. His eyes were brilliantly open and unguarded at that moment, the warm whiskey color flecked with amusement and faint annoyance. "You're lack of patience is really quite amazing."

My skin heated at his proximity. "Kind of like your lack of respect for personal space? I can tuck back my own hair, Wood." Forcing my guard back up, I twisted my hand out of his grasp, promptly crossing my arms across my damp chest in hopes of making him step back.

He merely cocked his head to the side, arching a brow and not budging a single inch. "Someone's testy."

"Someone's also cold and wet—what's your point?"

"What are you doing in here, anyway?" he asked, completely ignoring my snap of a question as he let his gaze flicker around the dark room.

My lip jutted out into a scowl. "Meeting someone."

Wood's gaze instantly snapped back over to mine, the light quality vanishing somewhat from his eyes. For a moment, I was confused by the sharpness of the reaction, though my own words promptly struck me out of context and showered me in realization.

He thought I was meeting a guy.

I couldn't help the slight curl of my lips as he subtly cooled his expression, going from surprised to unaffected in less than two seconds. His eyes closed up entirely as his guard went right back up, dark brows arching over them coolly. "Still building up your track record with broom closets, then?"

My skin prickled at the insinuation in his tone, though I managed to keep my cool. If he could have Fiona, I could have someone, too. Even if they weren't technically real. "Well, my first experience was a bit of a disappointment, so I've been trying to redeem it, you see," I drawled, pointedly referring to the night we'd both been stranded inside the closet near the Gryffindor common room.

His eyes darkened at this, lips inverting into a mirthless smile. "Funny."

I merely shrugged, eyes cool and unwavering. "Not really—just honest."

He scoffed at this. "Right, because your moans were ones of _disappointme—_"

"There were no moans involved!" I snapped, unable to keep the note of hysteria out of my voice.

The corner of his lips quirked, satisfied with the rise he'd gotten. "I definitely heard a moan or two…"

"Yeah, maybe from you," I jabbed a bit nonsensically, causing a faint glimmer of amusement to bloom in his eyes. I could tell there was something on the tip of his tongue—something infuriating if his expression was anything to go by—though he promptly let it go at the severity of my scowl.

We stood like that for a moment—inches apart, irritation sketched onto my face and faint humor splashed onto his, and I slowly but surely felt a certain shift in the lightness of the air. A new sense of awareness floated into the room; awareness of the other's proximity, of the unresolved emotions, of the blatant lack of communication we'd had for the past few days, and everything just got a little bit… heavier.

An unexpected layer of goose bumps fluttered over my skin as he slowly tilted his head to the side, brows furrowing somewhat over his eyes. He was staring at me with that cryptic stare of his, gaze flitting briefly over my face, and I felt my pulse start racing beneath my skin. I hated that his stupid, couldn't-possibly-be-any-damn-harder-to-bloody-rea d expressions could do that to me, but like it or not, my heartbeat was growing erratic.

I cleared my throat, and after an extended moment, he finally glanced away. "Well, I hate to interrupt your super classy broom closet hook-up, but we've got a thank-you speech to give."

**End of Snippet 3.**

Alright, so after this, the actual conflict resolution type thing I wrote comes in. Skip ahead a few weeks after the banquet. Andy and Oliver have a pretty great moment on the boat after it's over, since they're both high off the huge success of it all and how it's finally over, but ultimately, Fiona comes in to collect her date and Andy instantly closes up and leaves them with an awkward sort of goodbye. She knows she's being unfair—they were just friends, he could date whoever he wanted—but she also knows that she'd be kidding herself if she pretended she was cool with being around it. So she goes back into distant mode.

This leaves her kind of down for the following few weeks, and naturally, her friends notice. Them being them, they know EXACTLY what's wrong, but talking sense to Andy is like talking sense to a brick, so they agree to let her deal with it on her own. By this I mean that they talk to Wood and tell him Andy's being all depressing and annoying and shit and that, since he was her 'friend' now, maybe he could cheer her up. As Alicia Spinnett is involved in this conversation, it's about as subtle as a nuclear bomb, but nonetheless, Wood finds Andy in the hallway after Arithmancy and says he misses hanging out with her and asks if she's down for catching up that night.

Andy's hesitant as hell but eventually caves, and takes this as an opportunity to prove to herself that she could easily be just friends with him. She decides to let herself be excited about it because despite all the unresolved tension she's feeling, Wood's a great person to talk to and she misses their conversations and interactions like crazy. Thus, she shows up in a good mood and says that whatever boring thing he has planned is out of the question because they're going to sneak onto the roof.

As usual, Wood thinks she's nuts but is eventually dragged along. He's brought a blanket and a deck of cards (something of an inside joke – whenever they hit a wall during their planning sessions, they'd play a card game to get their competitive streaks flaring and figure out a solution.) They end up on the roof of the Ravenclaw Tower, which is against about 6,000 different rules, laughing and catching up, and a big theme of the night is reinforcing that they're just 'friends'. Andy does this by constantly saying the phrase "friends –insert verb here-, right?" It starts off with innocent things like 'friends kick each other's asses at Exploding Snap, right?' and 'friends sing Britney Spears songs together, right?', but eventually, as the night progresses, the tone grows more serious, and eventually, something Andy really wasn't expecting happens.

Oliver opens up about Claire. He tells her the whole story, from what he saw to the investigation to how there was about a month where his mother couldn't even look at him without sobbing, and Andy finds her heart shattering just a little bit more for him with every word. She realizes how blown away she is by the guy sitting across from her, by how much he's gone through and the amount of character it takes to grow from an experience like that instead of collapse, but there's another part of her that's getting eaten alive by guilt because she already knew. Not the full story, but she knew about Claire and the attack, and he'd just opened up to her about while she pretended she didn't know a thing. To be clear: she tries to say something, but the way he opens up and starts telling her about it and just wants for the first time in years for someone to listen, silences her. She doesn't want to ruin this for him, so for once in her life, she just listens.

At the end of it, they're both left in silence, and Andy is just taking it all in. She's pretty affected, but after a minute or so, finally speaks.

**Snippet 4, Part 1:**

"Friends hug, right?" I murmured throatily, staring down at my hands. He didn't respond for a few moments, seemingly lost in thought, and for second I thought he hadn't heard me. Then, without a word, his arm reached out and wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me into his chest in a single, decisive sweep that instantly broke down my walls.

I burrowed my head into the crook of his neck, hands sweeping up his chest and hooking tightly around him. He dropped his head against my hair, and a dozen emotions swept through me at once: warmth, sadness, hesitation, guilt, anger—

"Hey," he murmured, lifting a hand to stroke my hair back, and I realized a moment of utter horror that my breath was hitching. Mother of _God_, was I crying? "It's alright, love."

His voice was a low, soothing rumble against my ear, and something about the fact that he was comforting _me_ when he was the one that'd gone through such a horrible ordeal made me start crying even harder, much to my utter embarrassment. I couldn't help it; it was just so unbearably _Oliver_ to do something like that, to care more about my wellbeing than his own, and I… I couldn't…

"Bloody hell, why am I crying?" I choked out, unable to make sense of my own thoughts, and I felt him shrug slightly.

"Who says you need a reason?"

Was he _trying_ to make me sob? "Stop it," I said half-exasperatedly, tears blurring my vision.

"Stop what?" he murmured, moving to tuck a damp curl behind my ear, and I caught his hand in frustration, pulling back to meet his gaze.

"_That_. Being so…" I searched for the word for a few moments before giving up and staring at him helplessly. His brows were gathered into a puzzled frown, hand still caught in mine, and I was torn between wanting to snog the living hell out of him and desperately needing fresh air. Merlin, this was overwhelming—I didn't even know what the hell was wrong with me.

"Andy—"

"_No_—whatever it is, just—"

"Andy."

"—seriously, stop it—"

"_Andy_."

Jesus, I was freaking out.

**End of Snippet 3, Part 1.**

So, I didn't actually get to writing the part of this that connects to the much longer second half of this snippet, so imagine that he ends up calming her down by grabbing her shoulders and forcing her to look at him. The proximity and direct confrontation immediately spikes the tension in the air, and Wood seemingly forgets what he was going to say. He takes her in for a moment, eyes slowly trailing down her face, before lifting his hand up to thumb a forgotten tear away from her cheek.

Andy falls into a daze, her resolve quickly dissipating in the wake of the burning desire to just give in to impulse. He slowly drops his forehead against hers, and for a few seconds, they just breathe the same air, chests rising in a syncopated rhythm that steadily becomes hypnotic. The following happens:

**Snippet 4, Part 2:**

"Friends… kiss, right?" I managed to get out, voice throaty and thick and full of apprehension. The words were terrifying. They could change everything. Everything we'd worked through to get to this point: the fighting, the grudges, the tension, the confusion... it could mean all mean nothing with those words. But I said them anyway. He slowly brushed his nose along mine, sending a flurry of spitfires down my spine.

"No," he murmured, breath fluttering against my skin, and without any sort of warning, he dropped the lightest, most tantalizing of kisses onto my lips. It was little more than a sweep of his mouth, a soft, fleeting brush of his lips, but the friction sent my pulse into overdrive. "Which is exactly why we aren't just friends."

And before I could even respond to that, his mouth was on mine, hot and hungry and entirely unconcerned with the gentleness he'd been so insistent about earlier. Fire erupted through my veins, overwhelming any sense of logic or reason and spurring me to kiss him back blindly, feverishly—two people caught in a moment that neither wanted to break.

His hands quickly dropped to my waist, pulling me onto him in a rough motion that sent a bolt of electricity through me. Sixteen thousand different emotions were flooding me at once—desire, confusion, need, fear, excitement, dizziness—and I felt myself spinning out of control, hands tangling into his hair as I pressed myself flush against him. He dropped his mouth down to my collarbone, lips dragging against my neck, and my breath hitched in my throat.

This was too much, too fast. Sensory overload. Every motion was a mind-blowing blur of heat, and I couldn't process anything other than the hidden, devastating notion that underneath it all, something was wrong. But _God, _this felt… this felt like every single nerve of mine was in resonance, vibrating and short-circuiting and spit-firing in pure bliss. This felt like bloody Nirvana—like every thought or emotion I'd ever experienced was telescoping into a single moment of overwhelming everything-ness. This felt like…

Love?

I jolted in his arms._ Fuck_. What? _No_. Love… was for other people. Love was for the Katies of the world; love was for the Angelina and Fred's; love wasn't for idiotic sixteen year olds who lied to the person they _weren't _in love with about things. Love—Jesus Christ, fucking _love_! This was ridiculous. There's no bloody way I… me… Oliver… sodding _love_, for Christ's sake! The many splendored thing! All you need, what lifts us up where we belong, what keeps us together—_fuck_ no!

I needed air. Or therapy. Shit, I was going to start hyperventilating.

"Oliver," I managed to rasp out, anxiety building inside me as his lips kissed their way back up my throat. "Wood, hold on—" his mouth was back on mine before I could finish, possessive and gruff and everything I never knew I wanted. I found myself rapidly losing focus, getting lost in the feeling of his fingertips coursing up my thighs and his hot breath on my lips, and somewhere amidst this daze, he managed to flip me over.

My back hit the blanket with an electrifying thud, hair sprawling around my face as his body pinned mine to the ground. Forget it—I was done. All protest flew out the window, replaced instead by the ravenous hunger for him that'd been building in me for six weeks straight. He captured my lips within seconds, knee pushing between my thighs and hand running down the length of my waist, and I found myself arching my chest against his in a sharp desire for contact.

Too much clothes, too much fabric.

Blindly, I wrenched down the collar of his Oxford, sending a few buttons flying as the top half of the shirt came undone. His skin was smooth and hot against my palm, and the friction was enough to make me rip off the rest of his shirt in an animalistic rush. Love be damned—I fucking wanted this. _God_, did I want this. I wanted this so much, I couldn't even see straight, and that's all it was: _want_.

He slowed his movements down a bit as I raked my fingers down his chest, lips easing into a dizzying kiss that made the floor feel like it was melting. Then, slowly, he began undoing the buttons of my blouse, one by one. It was a stark contrast to my slightly less refined ripping technique, but something about the control of it all was unbearably seductive—his lips maintained a deft, languid dominance over mine as he unbuttoned, and I was in no condition to protest.

Skin burned against skin the moment he finished, mouth sliding down my neck to explore the new expanse of territory he'd just accessed. My pulse was picking up again, thoughts starting to blur nonsensically, though it wasn't until his lips brushed against the swell of my breast that I rocketed right back into the overwhelming swirl of frantic emotions. What the hell were we doing? What the _hell _were we doing? I'd just lied to him about—now we were—_Jesus Christ, _what were we—

"_What the hell are we doing_?" I suddenly snapped, jolting up on my elbows to stare at him in panic.

He lifted his head to meet my gaze, hair ruffled and eyes a bit hazy. "What?"

"You—me—we're… we're supposed to be…" I gestured frantically for a moment, trying to signify 'friends' but not quite managing it. "We're supposed to avoid—"

"Snogging?" he asked, left side of his mouth quirking the slightest bit. "Pretty sure we're destined to fail at that, love."

The word love sent another surge of panic through me, and before I knew it, I was going back into meltdown mode. Unfortunately, he was already leaning in to kiss me again, and I said quite possibly the last thing in the world that I should've said: "I already knew about Claire."

He slowed to a halt, face inches from mine. His eyes were warm, unguarded, and slowly filling with confusion. "What?"

"I…" I averted my gaze, dropping it down to his chest as my heart began pounding, "I already knew about the werewolf attack. Before you told me."

Silence filled the air for a beat, tension slowly seeping through the cracks in the stones, until he shook his head in disbelief. "Who the hell—how could you have _possibly_—"

"It doesn't matt—" I started to say, but he cut me off.

"How long?"

My stare flew up to his. "What?"

"How long have you known?" I winced a bit, and his stare grew cold. "How _long_, Wiles?"

"Since the victory party."

His eyes flared with anger, mouth parting to say something, though it promptly closed as realization clouded his face. "Is that what I told you that night? What I really told you?"

"What? _No_—I wouldn't have lied to you about that!"

"Really? Because you did a pretty fucking _brilliant_ job of pretending not to know about it ten minutes ago." His anger was building and I felt alarms starting to go off in my head.

"I wasn't _pretending_, it's not like I knew all of it, I just—"

"Merlin, and here I was, forcing myself to finally open up to you and you already fucking _knew_—_have_ known, actually, for six bloody weeks! Sorry if I bored you, Wiles."

"Oliver—"

"Do you want to know the last time I trusted anyone enough to talk about what happened with them?" he snapped, eyes molten and intense. "Zach Davies, third fucking year. Four years, Andy. Four bloody years, and I happen to choose the girl who already knew but thought it'd be fun to get it out of me herself."

Indignation swept through me. "That is _not _what I was trying to do!"

"Oh, really? Then why the hell didn't you tell me?"

"Because!"

"Because _what_!?"

"Because I didn't want to make it worse!" Angry confusion swept through him, flashing in his eyes, and I shook my head in desperation. "I didn't want this to happen, Oliver—any of it. The friendship, the closeness, and _especially_ not the snogging, I just…" I sighed tightly, dropping my gaze. "I didn't… I didn't want to remind you of her."

His gaze flickered in surprise, and I felt it burning into my profile for a few long moments of silence. And then it hardened. "We never talked things out that night, did we?"

I didn't have to ask what night to know what he was referring to. "Not really, no."

"That 'just friends' thing was pure bullshit, then?"

"If you want to put it that way, then yeah, I guess so."

He shook his head, expression bitter. "I knew it."

"I wasn't doing it to trick you, Wood, I just thought it might make things easier," I retorted, a slight edge rising in my voice, and he chucked hollowly.

"Make things easier. Right. Hell of a lot of good that did."

"Well, it did for a while," I pointed out, growing increasingly irritated with the accusation in his tone, and he shot me an acidic look.

"Guess that while's up."

My eyes flickered with exasperation. "Look, I just did what I thought would be best for you—"

"And that's exactly _what I fucking hate_ about this entire situation!" he snapped, voice rising into a yell that caught me entirely off-guard. "Jesus, Andy, you barely knew me then! What, you heard some story about my sister and all of a sudden you thought you knew better than I did how I should live my life? That's exactly why I _don't _talk about this with people!"

"Wha—no, I didn't—it was more complicated than that!"

"No, _you _made it more complicated than that," he cut in, tone bitter. "God, you really thought you reminded me of _Claire_?"

I faltered at this, mind spinning with a mixture of frustration and uncertainty. "I… I mean, yeah, maybe a little bit—"

"And what, you thought that my being around you would force me to confront that whole thing, relive the past?" he pressed on.

"Well, kind of, but—"

"Unbelievable," he snapped, and a flare of frustration shot through me. "Un-fucking-_believable_. You seriously thought that you had to stay away from me because of that?" he scoffed. "Because I'm obviously not capable of gauging my own psychological stability, right, so you had to take matters into your own hands."

"Okay, putting it that way makes it sound like—"

"Exactly what it bloody is—you making a decision _for _me, without any of my consent, that you thought I wasn't capable of making _myself_," he completed, voice rising yet again. "Jesus, and you call _me _patroni—"

"I wasn't patronizing you, damn it, I was just trying to do the right fucking thing!" I cried, my frustration starting to filibuster. "For Christ's sake, _you_ even told me that I reminded you of Claire before; what the hell was I _supposed_ to think? Yeah, I might've lied to you a bit and yeah, I might've made some one-sided decisions, but stop acting like I did you some gross injustice by deciding to neutralize whatever the hell we had going on—which, _by the way_, was not even functional to begin with!"

"I'm not angry at you for that," he growled, gaze locked on mine. "If you wanted to be friends, you could've bloody talked to me about it and I would've heard you out—hell, I probably would've agreed with you. What I can't _stand_ is the fact that you made up this whole elaborate lie to do 'what was best for me'. I'm not some broken person that needs to be analyzed or tiptoed around, Andy!" Katie's words instantly flashed in my head, the warning in her eyes and pleading in her voice, and I immediately shook them off. "And about the Claire thing, yeah, obviously there are times when you remind me of her, but there are times when Alicia reminds me of her, too. Hell, a lot of people remind me of her, but that doesn't mean I need to cut myself off from them and stop living my damn life."

This threw me for a bit of a loop. Was it possible that—had I really just made that up? I flickered my gaze up to his, full of guarded question, "So… you don't see me as her?"

He looked bewildered. "Of course not—are you insane? You're far too infuriatingly you to be anyone else, it's a fucking nightmare."

I glared at the words, though inside, I felt a strange sort of weight lifting from my shoulders. I felt like for the past six weeks, I'd been carrying the burden of being Claire—keeping myself in check, trying not to get to close, trying not to stir up old pain—and here I was, completely deluding myself. I was just as much Claire as any other damn person, for Merlin's sake. "I'm really stupid," I admitted after a moment, staring down at my hands.

"Finally, something we agree on," he muttered in return, shaking his head. "God, you've really been pushing me away all this time because of _that_?"

"I…" I trailed off, pulling my knees up to my chest and resting my chin on them in a defeated slouch. "I made some assumptions, is all."

"Yeah, obviously."

"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" I said a bit tetchily. "I didn't mess things up on pur—_what _are you doing?" Without warning, he'd placed the back of his hand on my forehead, eyeing me in alarm.

"You just apologized for something. Willingly. You must be coming down with something."

I shot him a 'ha-ha' look, swatting his hand away, but he laced his fingers with mine before I could retract my hand, eyes trained on my own. A multitude of crack-addicted butterflies fluttered through my stomach, making my pulse speed up the slightest bit—we were still half-naked. If he was aware of this fact, he didn't show it, for his stare remained calmly level with mine, dark and speculative.

"You're a really frustrating person, you know that?"

I scoffed at this. "And you're a walk in the park."

"You realize if you'd just talked to me about it from the begi—"

"You realize if you'd just _told_ me from the beginning."

"I had no reason to tell you, we weren't even frie—"

"You could've at least told me it had nothing to do with me."

"Pretty sure I did on multiple occa—"

"Yeah, but you're so locked up and guarded, it's impossible to know if you're telling the truth or just going into self-preservation mode." Silence followed my words, and I glanced over to see him staring at me with a dry expression.

"Done interrupting, or should I just stop talking?"

I flushed a bit. "Sorry."

"Bloody hell, two apologies in one night—you sure you're not sick?" His lips quirked a bit as I scowled.

"Sod off."

"There's the Andy I know."

"Did you have something to say or not?" I asked rather snippily, the warmth of his fingers around mine making it really hard to stay annoyed.

"Are you going to cut me o—"

"No." He shot me a flat look and I balked. "Point taken."

He sighed. "Well, first of all, in case you haven't noticed this already, I don't lie to people. Ever. A lot times that means avoiding certain subjects or not giving any input on things that I know will cause a useless fuss," he explained, thumb drawing slow circles over my wrist. "I get that I can seem really closed up, and I get that it's probably frustrating sometimes, but never feel like anything I tell you is just a self-preserving lie. I'll either say what I think or not say anything at all—it's just the way I am."

I chewed my lip as I took this in, thinking back to all the arguments I'd had with him. Now that I thought about it, I realized how often he'd just stay quiet about certain things and how I would always assume he was just being arrogant and above it all. God, keeping opinions locked in was such a foreign concept to me; it was hard to relate to the desire to stay quiet.

"Second of all," he said, drawing me back up from my thoughts, "from your perspective, it probably seemed completely ridiculous that I hadn't opened up to you about my life because you thought it had to do with you personally—I didn't have that same connection in my head. What happened to Claire might explain certain things about my personality, sure, but it doesn't define me. When you're doing your whole suicidal routine on the pitch, I'm not thinking about her or anyone else, I'm thinking about _you_. That's why I didn't feel the need to tell you about her before—you're both completely separate people to me." He shrugged, "Tonight she came up, and you're my friend, and for the first time in a while, I felt like talking about it. So I did. It was that simple."

I ruminated over this for a minute or so, hugging my knees to my chest with my free arm and staring at my feet in thought. Upon speaking, however, all I could really come up with was one thing: "We have serious communication issues."

He chuckled at this and I smiled slightly at the sound, staring off into the night sky. We stayed like this for a minute or so, holding hands like a bloody Hallmark card and thinking about nothing and everything in particular, until I finally took the leap I was avoiding and cleared my throat. "So."

He continued gazing at the sky. "So."

Don't be a jealous cow, just be rational. "About Fiona."

He shot me an odd look, seeming genuinely surprised by change in topic. "What about her?"

I met his gaze with a flat one of my own. "Don't play dumb, Wood, you guys have a thing."

"A platonic thing?"

"No, a very much _not_ platonic thing, according to her."

"Andy—"

"And I know some people are okay with the whole friends with benefits thing, but I'm honestly just not a friends with benefits type of person—"

"Andy."

"—either like you or I don't, and based on what happened ten minutes ago, I think it's pretty clear what category you fall into for me, so—"

"_Andy_."

"—really not sure I can pull off random hook-ups on the side, which might make me old-fashioned but honestly, sharing isn't always bloody caring, so it boils down to either me or—"

I inhaled sharply as his mouth came down over my own, silencing my rambling ultimatum and sending a rush of goose bumps up and down my spine. All of my carefully planned arguments flew right out of my head, and like clockwork, I found myself melting into the kiss. His lips were slow and pliant on mine, his hand lifting up to brush along the side of my cheek, and after a few lobotomizing seconds, he pulled away, lips curled a bit crookedly at the corners. "You are the hands down the most impossible person to argue with on the entire bloody planet."

"I meant every word," I responded like the stubborn old man that I am, though my tone was a bit dazed.

"I know you did," he replied, thumb lightly tracing the line of my jaw. "What I don't know is why you ever got the impression that I'd want you to share me with Fiona. I certainly have absolutely no intention in hell of sharing you." He dropped a feather-light kiss on the tip of my earlobe before murmuring, "I'm a bit possessive, love."

You know, you'd think being made to feel like a possession would be demeaning, but holy _hell, _coming from him made it feel like the best thing in the world. "So… no Fiona, then."

"There never was."

My eyes grew suspicious. Oh, please. "I don't believe that."

"Fucking _Merlin_, Andy—we might've snogged once or twice, but it didn't mean anything at all," he explained, rolling his eyes. "If anything, it was to get my mind off this absurdly stubborn other girl who'd made it her life's mission to avoid me at all costs."

My skin flushed a bit at the admission, lips twitching in an effort to avoid curling into a smile. I opened my mouth to say something, closed it, opened it again, closed it, and after a minute or so eventually ended up with: "I'm not absurdly stubborn."

He tossed his head back and laughed. "You're a bloody _mule_."

My eyes brightened with amusement. "And you're a bloody _ass_."

"You know mules are half-donkey, half-horse, right?" he asked, arching a cheeky brow. "If I'm an ass, I'm _literally_ your daddy."

"I really wish you were funny."

He scoffed, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and pulling me into him. "I'm hilarious."

The warmth of his body against mine stole whatever witty comeback I'd had right out of my mouth, and I settled into his chest with a sigh that was supposed to sound exasperated but ventured deeply into 'idiotically happy' territory. I felt light, heady, and ridiculous. Nothing had felt this… this _easy _in years. The heaviness was gone, and it was like both of us had grown so used to carrying around the extra weight of our drama that in its absence, we were floating.

Everything was out on the table. Everything unsaid had been said. Every reason to walk away or quit while we're ahead or label this a bad idea had been brought up, aired out, detailed, expanded upon, diagrammed, graphed, weighed, and measured.

And yet here we were.

**End of Snippet 4, Part 2.**

Alright. I know it was rushed, but I figured it's better than nothing, and it really does follow what I had in mind for these two all along. That said, I couldn't bear to do an epilogue without giving you a final glimpse of the supporting cast that I feel added so much to this story, and what's more, I distinctly remember promising you guys a look into Oliver's PoV, so with that said… let's fast-forward four or five months, shall we? This is more of an actual epilogue. I'm putting it in another chapter because, once again, I ramble.


	25. Epilogue: Part Two

**Settling the Score**

Epilogue: Part Two

**Snippet 5, Part 1:**

A slow, crooked smile pulled up the corner of my mouth as I gazed down at her sleeping form. She was curled up against my side, dark hair fanned out over my chest in a cascade of wild curls that spoke volumes of her personality. Her eyes were ringed with long, thick lashes that cast crescent moon shadows over the slope of her nose, and her lips were pursed into a subtle frown.

Her head was nestled onto my shoulder, hand resting on my chest and legs tangled with mine. My arm was draped loosely around her waist, and at the moment, she felt so small, so delightfully warm and delicate, that I couldn't help but pull her closer. She just felt so completely… _mine_.

And I'm a bit of a possessive bloke.

The movement caused her to stir ever so slightly, but instead of waking, she merely shifted more comfortably against me, snuggling deeper into my shoulder. That is, of course, until she grumbled out a throaty and disgruntled, "I'm going to punch you if you keep staring at me."

A wry grin flickered over my lips—there's the girl I masochistically fell in love with. "Morning, love."

Her eyes fluttered open, revealing half-lidded slivers of bright, yellow-speckled green that sleepily fixed onto my stare. She looked tired and unbelievably sultry all at once, her hazy eyes catlike and her lips slightly parted, and my head had trouble processing the disparate reactions each expression triggered in me. "What time is it?" she asked in a voice like a cat's tongue.

I glanced over at the clock on my bedside table. "About a quarter till seven." A predictable slew of curses spit-fired out of her mouth, causing the corners of my mouth to quirk upward. I don't think I'd ever met anyone more allergic to morning cheer than Andora Sunrise-Equals-Apocalypse Wiles.

"Are you bloody _kidding_ me?" she hissed, propping herself up on her elbow to glance at my clock herself. She groaned upon seeing the time, collapsing back into my bed and yanking the covers over her face. Something muffled sounded from beneath the blanket, and I quirked a brow.

"What was that?"

Down came the covers. "I said I hate you." Up went the covers.

"We should probably break up, then."

"Yes," came the muffled response.

I furrowed my brow in mock-thought. "You know, if we're broken up, you should probably leave my bed."

She was silent for a few moments, and then: "We're back together."

My lips twitched. This girl. "I'm getting breakfast," I announced, dropping my head down to kiss the unidentified lump of covers I suspected was her head before pushing myself up into a sitting position. She fished her hand out of the covers and reached out blindly before catching onto a fistful of my shirt.

"No."

"Come with me," I said, swiveling around to grab her hand, and she immediately switched her grip to my wrist and tried to pull me back down. I chuckled.

"Stay," she whined, looking like nothing more than a lumpy blanket with a disembodied arm sticking out. "No one eats breakfast at seven in the morning."

"Everyone eats breakfast at seven in the morning."

"No one _worthwhile _eats breakfast at seven in the morning."

"I eat breakfast at seven in the morning."

She yanked the covers down from her head and shot me a sleepy, satisfied grin. "Like I said."

My eyes darkened with a sly glitter. "If I'm so worthless," I drawled, slowly dropping back down so that my body was once again hovering over hers, "why are you so desperate for me to stay?"

"Easy," she said, hands instinctively gliding up my chest before entwining around my neck. "I'm cold."

I looped one of her wild curls around my finger. "Do a heating charm."

Her nose scrunched up, contorting the constellation of freckles I had memorized. "Too much work."

"Yeah, and you're pretty shit at heating charms, so…"

Her eyes flashed as she dropped her hands to my shoulders and shoved me. "Not true!" She shook her head. "God, you light _one little third year_ on fire and suddenly your heating charm's a danger to society."

"Aw, no one thinks it's a danger to society, love," I replied, lips tipping up into a smirk. "Just humanity."

Her eyes flattened. "We're breaking up again."

"Brilliant," I said, swinging my feet off the bed and drawing open the curtains, "I can go to breakfast now."

"Fine," she replied, yanking the covers back over her head, and I rolled my eyes, got to my feet, and made my way over to the bathroom to wash up. Zach Davies and Dexter Jones were dead asleep, as usual, the former snoring loudly from his impending hangover and the latter clad in his token Albert Einstein pajama set, and Gabe was likely out for his morning swim. Even if they had been awake, they were pretty used to hearing Andy grumbling about the room on Saturday and Sunday mornings and knew not to mess with her.

Well, Dex and Harris knew. Davies had learned the hard way.

The first thing I saw when I walked into the bathroom was an explosion of rubbish. Combs, hair gel, broken bottle of cologne polluting the air, boxers with kiss marks all over them, 'Sexy Beast' written across the mirror in shaving cream. I groaned. "For fuck's sake, Davies." Zach had pretty much come to be known as a universal ruiner of peaceful Saturday mornings, largely due to his tendency to get shit-faced every Friday night.

And every other night, really. I'd seen him take a Potions exam completely hammered before: he did the entire thing upside down, walked out with it after the bell, and tried to turn it to an incredibly confused Professor Sprout during Herbology two hours later. Still, Friday nights were definitely the worst.

"Alcoholic git," I muttered, splashing some of the water I was using to wash my face onto the mirror to clear it. Davies was hilarious and entertaining as hell, but between Dex, Harris, and I, we were all pretty worried about him. He didn't have any sort of plan after Hogwarts, nor had he really learned anything other than how to look perfectly normal in a classroom while high as a bloody kite. His family situation wasn't the best, either, so he had no intention of going back home after the few months left of school ended. Gabe had offered to let him crash with him in his London flat for the summer if he still needed to figure things out, but we were all hoping he'd get it together before then.

Then again, if anyone could get him back on track, it was Gabe. The bloke had a God-given talent for knowing exactly what to say at any given moment, it was ridiculous. Zach always said the wrong thing, Dex turned everything into math, and I never said anything at all, but Gabe always ended up charming the pants off of anyone in any situation with a few perfectly placed words. It was annoying as hell, but it had also gotten a lot of us out of quite a few close calls.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand as I left the bathroom, skin emanating the scent of Davies' smarmy cologne, and headed straight back over to my bed. Without a word, I scooped the chaotic bundle of sheets, limbs, and hair that was my girlfriend up into my arms and carried her out of the room bridal-style. "Wood!" Andy squawked, clawing through the blanket for a few seconds before finally emerging in a wild-haired mess. "What the hell are you doing!?"

I grinned as I began to descend the stairs. "Why, taking you to breakfast, darling."

She began writhing in the mess of sheets. "Put me down!"

"Nah."

"Wood, I swear to God—"

"Sorry, I can't hear you over how romantic and gallant I'm being."

"This is not romantic, this is kidnapping and it's illegal!"

"Oh my God, that's so romantic!" a redheaded third year squeaked as she saw me carrying Andy down the stairs, nudging her friend. "Look at that!"

I smirked. "See?"

"Your death is imminent."

"You say the sweetest things."

"Castration, dismemberment, and _then _death."

"Easy, wildcat, not in front of the kids," I murmured, nuzzling her ear as if she'd just said something incredibly racy.

"I'm dumping you."

"I think we're still broken up."

"Then we're getting back together so I can do it again!"

"I wonder if they'll have waffles again today."

"Oh my God, he is so perfect."

"Then _you bloody date him_!" Andy snapped at the girl ogling us, causing her to jump back in shock, and I shot her a consoling look.

"Sorry. Ms. Norris gave her rabies. Freak accident."

"Oh my God, and you're taking care of her? That's so romantic."

Andy shot me a dark look. "I'm going to Petrify this girl." But then, something changed in her expression. It was dark, sly. She'd gotten an idea. Nothing good ever came from that. "You know," she said, turning back to the impressionable pair of girls, "it's funny that you think he takes care of me, because I'm actually his castration counselor."

Their eyes widened as I groaned. Not this again. "His _what_?"

"We're leaving."

"Castration counselor," she said, squirming against my grip to talk over my shoulder as I carried her away. "I help him deal with the embarrassment of having no bollocks—literally!—and hold him he as cries for hours about his inability to get it u—"

The portrait slammed behind her before she could finish, and she settled back into my arms with a smug look. "How you holding up today, tiger?"

"I fully support our breakup."

She laughed. "Perfect, then we're even."

My mouth tipped up into a grin at the bright sound of her laugh, and my stare flickered down to her face. She was staring up at me with those bold lemony green eyes of her, lips parted into the kind of smile that was so strikingly genuine that it could only happen after a burst of laughter, and after a moment, I shook my head.

"What?"

"You know what."

Her smile grew—of course she did. It was what I always did when I thought she looked annoyingly gorgeous. She took compliments hilariously badly, so instead of telling her out loud, I always just shook my head and told her she knew why. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

I shrugged easily. "Then I guess you'll never know."

She laughed again, and we bickered all the way to the doors of the Great Hall, where I finally, after a lot of begging and whining, agreed to put her down. The first thing she did after ditching the blanket was knee me in the thigh. _Hard_. "_Ow_."

"Pull that stunt again and I'll aim higher."

My expression soured. "I'm castrated, remember?"

She snorted despite herself, unable to keep a straight face. "Oh, yeah."

"Don't laugh."

She did just that, lapsing into a sunny laugh as she turned around and pushed the door open before I could open it for her. I shot her back an exasperated look: we never really agreed on that. She told me that it didn't matter who opened the damn door and if I really wanted to do something nice for her I could write her Potions essay. I always opened it for her anyway, and now it'd become a competition.

"Sweet bloody Merlin, do mine eyes deceive me?" a dramatic voice called, and I saw George Weasley stand up from the Gryffindor table with a scandalized expression, stare directed at Andy. Beside him, Fred placed a horrified hand over his heart. "Is that Andy Vampire Wiles awake before noon on a Saturday?"

"Sod off," Andy muttered, taking a seat at the empty bench across from them and gravitating to the coffee like a crack addict. I took the seat beside her and Fred immediately gave me a sly look.

"How'd you do it, mate?" He dropped his voice into a lascivious whisper, "You wake her with some of your 'Quidditch' moves?"

I smirked as Andy groaned.

"You know, _Chaser_ sleep away?" George chimed in, and Fred grinned.

"I bet it's hard to _Keeper_ satisfied."

"Yeah, and you wouldn't want to _Beater_ to the punch, if you know what I mean…"

"What he's trying to say is make sure you _Seeker_ satisfaction before yours."

"Don't be a _Snitch_, Fred."

"That's a _Quaffle_ thing to say, George!"

"I'm never waking up this early ever again," Andy muttered, staring at her cup of coffee as if wondering if she could drown herself in it, and I snorted at her expression, slinging an arm around her shoulders. Her lips twitched upward as I pulled her against me, though her eyes promptly shot back over to the twins. "Oi, speaking of early—what the hell are _you two_ doing up?"

Their smug expressions immediately dropped. "Nothing."

"Nothing at all."

"We're always up this early."

"Got a thing for sunrises."

"Dewy leaves."

"Birds chirping."

"Big morning fans over here."

"Gooooooooo _sunshine_!"

Andy and I exchanged a look. "In my experience, it's better not to know."

She lifted her mug in agreement. "So," she said, taking yet another sip of her coffee and offering me some. I took a swig and grimaced—Andy always poured half a bloody pound of sugar in her coffee and drowned it in milk. She rolled her eyes at my reaction before continuing to speak, "I may have been slightly less than sober last night, but I'm pretty sure I saw _you_ leave the party with Caroline Abbott," she pointed at George, "and you obviously left with Angelina," she pointed at Fred, "and Kats was in bed by 10 because she had a make-up exam at the crack of dawn. Did anyone see Alicia leave?"

George frowned. "Actually, no."

Fred scratched his head. "Can't say that I did."

She glanced over at me and I lifted my palms in defense. "I was distracted and it's entirely your fault."

She smiled slightly before biting down on her lip, eyes narrowing in thought. I knew that look. "Okay," she said in a light voice that I wasn't buying for one second. "Nevermind." George and Fred immediately went back to discussing whatever it was that had _really_ woken them up this early, and Andy immediately seized the opportunity to lean in closer and drop her voice into a whisper.

"Did Gabe come back to the dorm last night?"

"I was _definitely_ distracted at that point."

"I don't remember hearing anything."

"The Silencing Charm might've had something to do with that, love."

"His bed was still made this morning."

I shrugged. "He goes for morning swims—he probably made it before he left."

She shook her head. "No. Gabe's messy. Something's up."

I snorted at her conspiratorial look, giving her hair a brief ruffle before dropping my arm and leaning over to grab the plate of sausages. I dumped half of them on my plate, and proceeded to add a mountain of eggs, waffles, hash browns, bacon, and fruit to the sides until I had no space left. Andy side-eyed the plate and I smirked.

"Growing boy."

She glanced away without comment, stirring a spoon in her obscenely sweet coffee and thinking about Gabe and Alicia. I knew it was something she wanted to happen. She'd asked me if Gabe had ever talked about Alicia during any of our 'bro' talks before and wanted to know what I thought about it. I told her the truth—as long as Alicia was playing like one of the best damn Chasers in Hogwarts, I didn't care who she dated, and Gabe was surprisingly private for being such a universally loved bloke, so I didn't know.

She occasionally brought it up to me again, but even when she didn't, I'd see her eyeing them whenever they were around each other. Sometimes she'd nod in their direction and quirk a brow, and I'd look over and see Alicia being her blunt, fearless self and Gabe being the smooth bastard that he always was. I'd glance back at her with a clueless expression and she'd sigh exasperatedly and tell me I was blind.

"Whoa, you lot are up early," a voice rang from behind us, and I turned around and saw Katie smiling as she walked up to the table. She must've finished her exam. "What's this all about?"

"Did Alicia come home last night?" Andy asked, completely ignoring her question, and Katie frowned as she took the seat beside her.

"Not sure. I didn't see her this morning."

"Aha!" Andy said, whipping around with a triumphant look. "See?"

I paused, forkful of sausage hovering a centimeter from my open mouth. "See what?"

"Oh my God, you're hopeless. Kats," she said, turning back around to face the brunette, and from there the conversation fell into an alien language of hyper fast best friend speak that only terrified me a little bit. I glanced over at the twins, who'd stopped their unquestionably illegal dealings to stare at the two wildly gesticulating girls in fascination, and gave a sly smile.

"So you never managed to make a pun with 'bludger'."

Their faces broke out into two identical wicked grins.

**End of Snippet 5, Part 1.**

There's more to the scene, don't worry! It's just that from here, even though I wanted the whole thing to be from Oliver's perspective to give you guys some much deserved insight into his head, I really have to switch back into Andy's PoV. It just feels wrong to have her last interactions with her nutso group of best friends be told by anyone other than her.

**Snippet 5, Part 2:**

"—the song with the mooing—"

"—her too!—"

"—and the thing—"

"—and the sodding _pen_—"

"—don't even talk to me about that pen—"

"—and the nail polish—"

"—bloody _Marshmallow_ _Yellow_—"

"—so obvious!" Kats and I both said at the same time, and with that, it was concluded.

Alicia Spinnett had spent the night with Gabriel Harris. It was motherfucking law and there was nothing that could convince me otherwise.

"Hey," Katie said with a frown, nodding over my shoulder at something going on behind me, and I glanced over and saw Gabe walking in with his arm around… Gwen Clearwater.

Well. Okay. Except maybe that.

"The hell?" I murmured, eyes narrowing in perplexity before swinging around to meet Katie's. "But that doesn't make any sense."

"I know," Kats agreed, expression ablaze with confusion. "Didn't you say Gabe liked smart girls?"

I snorted despite myself—I loved Katie's subtle bitchy moments. "That's what he told me once, but…" I glanced back over at Gwen's straining tank top, "maybe he makes an exception for a slammin' D-cup." I mean hey, I would.

Katie let out a frustrated groan. "But he's _perfect _for Alicia."

I smiled a bit—Kats was a really dramatic romantic. Everyone was always 'perfect for each other' or 'completely blind' or 'disastrous'. They were never just 'cute' or 'nice' or 'whatever'. Bronte novel or bust. "They're pretty damn adorable."

"I still think something's up."

I followed Gabe and Gwen to the Hufflepuff table with my eyes, noticing the way he dropped his arm from her shoulders once they got there and sat down facing away from the table. He propped his elbows back on the surface in a casual manner, leaning his back against the tabletop and kicking his legs out into the walkway. It gave the impression that he wasn't planning on staying there long. "Hm. Maybe you're right."

Deciding to put it on the backburner till Alicia herself woke up, I turned back to face everyone, grabbed what I presumed to be my mug of coffee, and took a sip that I spat back out in 0.2 seconds. "Wood! What did you do to my coffee?"

Let's get one thing straight here: Oliver has the world's worst taste in coffee. Seriously, it's like a talent. He thinks a single iota of sugar is disgusting, grimaces if a cow is even mentioned because just the _thought_ of something _capable _of producing milk occurring near his coffee is too much milk, and will only be satisfied if it tastes like a ground up bar of soap.

"Moved it," he said, and nodded to the mug closer to Katie. "It's over there. And calling that coffee is a bit of a stretch, don't you think, love?"

I smiled sarcastically. "Oh, yay. Coffee-snob Oliver. My favorite."

"Stroppy Andy!" he said with way overdone enthusiasm, like a kid seeing his favorite superhero, and my flat expression cracked into an actual smile. "_My_ favorite!" His zealous face normalized into an easy grin, and he reached up to tug on a curl. "Actually, Stroppy Andy really is one of my favorites."

"I guess coffee-snob Oliver's kind of sexy."

His arched an intrigued brow. "_Really_? Well," he drawled, lowering his voice into seductive murmur and leaning down to whisper in my ear, "coffee beans happen to be cultivated in over 70 different countries, most of which reside in the regions of equatorial South America, Southeast Asia, Africa, and—"

"Go away," I laughed, shoving him back and shaking my head. He pulled me back and kissed the top of my head, and for the millionth time since I'd started dating Wood, I was overcome by the paradox of how the hell did I fall in love with this idiot and who in their right mind wouldn't?

"Okay, what the hell?" We all glanced up to see Angelina standing behind Fred and George, brows raised and hands on her hips. "In what planet do you guys wake up earlier than me?"

"Morning, beautiful," Fred said with a grin, pulling Angelina into his lap before she could protest and dipping her into a hilariously elaborate kiss. "Sleep well?" She tossed him a pointed look, lips fighting back a smile, and we all knew from that exchange alone that neither of them had gotten much sleep at all.

"Blech," George said, faking a shudder, and Fred merely grinned.

"Hey, did you see Alicia come home at any point last night?" Katie asked Angelina, cutting her omelet into little squares, and Angelina glanced away from Fred for a moment.

"Uh… actually, come to think of it, no."

Katie dropped her fork. "So _no one_ saw her leave the party yesterday? What if something happened to her!"

"Kats, relax—she was in the shower when I woke up."

I perked up. "Really?"

"Yeah, she was singing opera, it was awful."

Katie and I made eye contact. "Singing? Like… happy singing?"

Angelina shrugged, sliding off of Fred's lap into the seat beside him. "It was in Italian."

Katie frowned. "Alicia doesn't even know Italian."

"So you can imagine, then, how bad it was."

We all winced: Alicia's singing voice right up their with wailing cats. Combine that with a butchered language and it's just aural carnage all around.

"So you couldn't even get an inkling of if she was in a good mood or not?"

Angelina sighed exasperatedly. "I was completely exhausted, Andy, I have no idea." Her eyes caught on something behind my shoulder, and with a relieved expression, she raised a hand and gestured behind me. "Perfect: ask her yourself."

Katie and I immediately whipped around. Alicia was the world's most transparent person: all of this would be settled the second we talked with her, and possibly before. She was big on facial expressions. For example, the one she was wearing now was a potent cocktail of anxious, defensive, and bitchy.

Bad mood. Definitely bad mood.

"Well, that's not good," Katie muttered beside me, and I shook my head in agreement.

"Nope."

Curious, I switched my stare over to Gabe, and in a bit of an upside, he was watching her from where he sat. Gwen was going on about something that had him smiling his easy, lopsided smile, but his eyes were disconnected. They were dark as they followed the glaring blonde across the room.

I nudged Katie. "You see that?"

"Yeah. Weird."

"Definitely weird."

"Morning, Alicia," Katie greeted with a bright smile, and as if she was having an allergic reaction to the cheer, Alicia went out of her way to walk around the table and sit next to Angelina instead.

"Nice opera this morning," the Prefect said sardonically, slathering pumpkin jam onto her roll of bread. "I had no idea you thought you knew Italian."

Alicia scoffed defensively, reaching for Angelina's cup of tea and taking a sip. "That was German, hello."

Angelina laughed in outright disbelief. "Wow—list of ways to know your German bloody sucks, number one: anyone in the history of _ever_ accidentally confuses it with the most effusive and romantic language in the world."

"Oh my God, it's not my fault you don't know the difference between German and Italian, Angelina," Alicia snapped, setting her mug down with a twitchy motion. "Get educated."

"Seriously," I agreed, more to get Alicia on my side than to piss Angelina off, though both were fun. Predictably enough, Alicia immediately seemed to warm up to me, and I smiled knowingly. "Where'd you run off to last night?"

Her warmth immediately disappeared. "Ugh."

"Is that Troll for 'with Gabe Harris?'"

"Andy," Kats groaned, frustrated with my lack of subtlety, but _really_? This was Alicia we were dealing with.

"_WHAT_?" the blonde all but screeched, forcing a manic sort of laugh that was far more terrifying than convincing, "oh my God, Andy, what even. Of course not. Wow, why would you even think that? That's so—_HA_!"

Okay, the 'HA' sealed it. Kats and I shared a look, and Angelina straightened a bit in her seat, finally catching on to our wavelength. "Wait, you were with Gabe last night?"

"I just said I wasn't!"

"What happened?"

"Oh my God, are you deaf?"

"Did you guys snog?"

"How many times do I have to—"

"No one's buying your stupid story, you bint, fess up."

I smirked as I took a long sip of my coffee: Angelina usually took the longest to engage, but once you got her vested, she was ruthless. She'd been best friends with Alicia since the first day of first year, and despite the fact that we were all practically sisters now, Alicia and Angelina were like a pair of twins. Zero boundaries.

Alicia sighed exasperatedly, dropping her head in her hands. Her shoulders were tensed, fingers digging themselves into her obnoxiously pretty hair, and we all stared at her in mild consternation.

"Did…" Katie began tentatively, always the much needed sensitive one, "did something happen last night, or—"

"_No,_" Alicia groaned, shaking her head without bothering to lift it from her hands. We all traded skeptical glances, thrown by the fact that it was taking her so long to open up—it was obvious something had gone down, and Alicia was physically incapable of keeping something to herself. "Nothing happened, and that's exactly the sodding problem."

My brow immediately furrowed. "What?"

"We left the party to go outside because it was stuffy and hot and impossible to hear anything," she muttered, still refusing to lift up her head, "and we ended up sprawled out by the lake, talking about everything under the sky."

I fought back the urge to snort: Alicia always got idioms wrong.

"And?" Katie pressed, visibly struggling to hide her excitement, and Alicia groaned.

"And it was fucking _wonderful_." She finally glanced up, eyes bright and miserable, and zeroed in on me. "Why the hell did you introduce him to me?"

"Uh." I frowned, sharing a perplexed look with Angelina. "Sorry, but I'm sort of failing to the problem here."

"The problem," she growled, reaching over for a random waffle and taking a gigantic bite out of it, "is that nofin' 'appened. Nofin' a' all."

Angelina grimaced at her table manners. "Can't imagine why not."

Alicia rolled her eyes and made a big show out of swallowing. "Look, he had every opportunity in the world to make a move. We were totally isolated under a velvet tableaux of a night sky with the perfect amount of stars twinkling over us."

Katie shot me an odd look and I shrugged in implicit agreement: the hell was 'the perfect amount of stars?'

"He isn't interested."

"I mean…" Katie began, "did you make a move?"

Alicia snorted in indignation. "What? No!"

"Since when do you have a problem with doing that?" Angelina asked, and Alicia shrugged all testily.

"Since… I don't know. Yesterday."

"Oh my God, you really like this kid," Kats murmured, eyes widening in excitement, and Alicia scowled.

"No I don't, he's just…" she shrugged again, taking another violent bite of her waffle and chewing like a caveman, "...annoying."

"Oliver," I called, keeping my eyes trained on Alicia. "I require your assistance."

I heard Wood pull away from his conversation with the twins and switch his focus to me. "What's up?"

"Gabe and Alicia spent the entire night together but he never made a move." Alicia groaned, dropping her head back in her hands at the fact that I was consulting Wood. "You know Gabe's dating habits better than I do. Is he not interested?"

He gave a noncommittal shrug, grabbing a grape off my plate and popping it into his mouth. "Not necessarily."

Alicia scoffed. "What does that mean?"

"Well, Harris is a pretty private person. I mean, what people generally see is this really easy-going bloke who gets along with everyone, but I live with him. Behind closed doors, he's always writing, thinking, observing. Keeps to himself a lot."

"So…"

"So maybe," Wood said, lifting his hand in warning gesture, "and don't take my word for it because I'm admittedly rubbish at this kind of thing—"

"_Fact_," I interjected.

"—_maybe_ showing you that more reserved side is his way of, you know, opening up."

We all stopped to consider this. Actually, it made a lot of sense.

"That's… huh," Angelina said, contemplating the notion, and Alicia's expression brightened a bit.

"Maybe you're right."

"Oliver!" I beamed at Wood, clasping my hands together and holding them over my heart. "You just analyzed a relationship. I'm so proud of you!" He rolled his eyes as I pulled him into a hug, wrapping an arm around my waist. "Your emotional IQ has officially surpassed the disabled range."

"It might also be that Harris was just distracted by how badly the Harpies annihilated the Cannons last night."

"Aaaand you're right back down there again."

He smirked, stealing yet another grape off my plate, though his gaze promptly caught on something behind Alicia. He gave my shoulder a light squeeze. "Alright, Harris?"

My gaze immediately snapped over to where he was looking, and sure enough, Gabe was walking over with his usual laidback confidence. "Can't complain, mate," he said, holding his hands out in shrug, though he promptly settled them down on either side of Alicia, framing her against the table. "Morning, 'Locks."

She visibly struggled not to react to the sound of his voice so close to her ear, and it was like watching a radioactive isotope struggle not to explode. "Hi."

"You're all up uncharacteristically early—did you lot lose a bet or something?" he asked, nodding to the rest of the table, and I almost laughed at his choice of words.

"The twins were doing something illegal, I was brought against my will, Katie had a make-up exam, Angelina and Oliver are just lame, and Alicia…" I trailed off, lips curling up slightly, "well, she never really made it to her bed last night, so who knows?"

His eyes fell back on her, and I struggled not to laugh as she stared at me with a murderous expression. God, revenge was sweet. How many times had Alicia mortified the living hell out of me in front of Oliver before we'd gotten together? I'd honestly lost count.

Everyone slowly fell back into their own conversations, and I watched as Gabe leaned down and muttered something that sounded a lot like, "Can we talk?" in Alicia's ear.

Alicia, ever the volatile psycho, scoffed. "Not like we do anything else."

Oh, God.

Nonetheless, she got up and followed him out of the Great Hall, and I watched them the entire way until the door closed behind them. I immediately turned to Angelina and Kats, the former of which already had a piece of parchment out and the latter of which was saying, "Put me down for five galleons on them snogging before she gets back."

"What? You can't change your bet!"

"I just did."

"No way, you already lost!"

"Just give it to her, Andy—poor girl can't win a bet to save her life."

"Oi, I don't recall you winning a bunch either."

Angelina snorted. "More than you."

"Fine," I said, "but it can't take away from the twenty galleons I had on this week."

"Ugh. Whatever."

"Doesn't matter anyway—next week's the winner."

"Dream on, Johnson."

"I'm getting those bloody shoes from Hogsmeade, you cow."

"Yeah, if you borrow the money I'm about to win from me."

"And me!" Katie chimed in with a bright smile, entirely horrible at being intimidating, and Angelina rolled her eyes.

"We'll see."

And we did see. It took about two hours, but halfway through George and Fred's reenactment of Lee's sleepwalking episode with McGonagall, a particularly suspicious-looking Alicia Spinnett slinked back into the Great Hall with messy hair, fuller than usual lips, and cheeks that were straining against the urge to smile.

She sat down to an entirely quiet table (well, the twins were still at it, Wood was laughing, and Lee, who'd woken up about half an hour ago, was loudly protesting, but other than that, silence), and tried to look nonchalant.

Kats, Angelina and I all stared at her unblinkingly.

She poured herself a goblet of pumpkin juice.

"Thirsty?" Katie asked, voice entirely innocent.

"Is that a crime?" Alicia snapped, taking a quick sip, though as she tilted her head back, her hair shifted to reveal a particularly obvious hickey that decidedly was not there before.

"HA!" I screeched, jumping up onto my feet in an explosion of vindication that caused everyone to turn and look at me in alarm. Uncaring, I hurled a finger at Alicia's neck. "PROOF!"

Angelina immediately groaned as Katie laughed in delight, clapping her hands together. "I finally won something!"

"Pay up, Johnson."

"Don't be annoying."

Alicia put the goblet down with a scandalized look. "You guys made a _bet_?"

"Yes, we did," I replied with a smug look as I sat back down, remembering very clearly the one she'd made on me. "How does it feel?" She parted her mouth to respond, clearly outraged, but I interrupted her before she could. "Oh, right—thanks for being a whore, Alicia."

Her mouth closed as the very same words she'd hit me with came right back at her, and after a second, she just started laughing. "God, we're the worst."

Angelina snorted. "It's true."

"No, we're not, we're the best!" Katie cheered, lifting her mug up in toast, and begrudgingly, Alicia and Angelina lifted their drinks, laughing at Katie and her equal parts annoying and adorable optimism. For a moment, I couldn't help but sit there and smile like an idiot as I looked at the three of them. They all looked so happy, so lovely, so bloody brilliant, a trio of perfect imperfections and flawless flaws, bursting with confidence and quirks and insecurities. My perfectly imperfect best friends.

"Andy," Katie cried, gesturing at my coffee mug. "Don't be a Grinch, we won!"

I lifted my mug, throwing my own unique set of attributes and flaws into the schizophrenic collage that was our friendship, and cleared my throat. "To the best and worst friends anyone could ever be lucky enough to get stuck with."

"Cheers!" they all chorused, and Katie gave an impish smile.

"And to beating the crap out of Angelina."

"Oi," Angelina exclaimed, dropping her mug with a surprised look. "Shove it, Kats." She glanced at Alicia with a look of disbelief. "Mean streak, that one."

"Told you I wasn't the mean one."

"No one calls you the mean you, they call you the _bitchy_ one. Get it straight."

"Uh, speaking of bitchy."

I laughed at the three of them, mood still weirdly sappy, and after a moment, turned back to Wood. He was eyeing me a smug look. "Bet, huh?" My smile turned into a grin. "So _that's_ why you cared so much…"

"You got me." I heaved a gusty sigh. "My name is Andy Wiles and I'm a gambling addict."

He lifted a hand to wave. "Hi, Andy."

I chuckled at the response, leaning into him and resting my head on his shoulder. His arm immediately came up around my shoulders, fingers dropping to skim the top of my arm in light, aimless patterns, and I took a moment to really just look around and think about how much, yet how little, everything had changed over the course of the past few months. The Weasleys were still the Weasleys, Lee was still Lee, Kats, Angelina, and Alicia were still Kats, Angelina, and Alicia, Wood was still Wood, and I was still Andy.

But we were the newer models, the updated versions. Debugged and better adjusted.

Fred and Angelina, for example, were stronger than ever despite a pretty major fight about the Weasleys potentially dropping out last month. It was something that had always cast a shadow over their relationship, and now that it had finally been confronted, they were happier than I'd ever seen them. George, like Fred, had decided to stay the final year and finish out school, but because of this, he'd started giving a shit about his grades again. That resulted in him rocketing from the bottom of the class to somewhere near the top in the span of a month, and it'd shocked the hell out of every professor except McGonagall. She'd always known he had it in him.

Lee and Kats, despite the complete failure that was their two-week attempt at dating, had actually grown to be pretty damn great friends once they realized they had absolutely nothing in common. Kats was now coaching Lee on how to be romantic, which meant he was constantly reading Jane Austen novels with a confused expression and muttering things like "I don't get it, this Darcy bloke is a git", and Kats was learning how to be a little more realistic about love. There was this one really cute Ravenclaw seventh year that had asked her to be his date to the next Hogsmeade trip, and for the first time in the history of ever, she took a chance and said yes.

Alicia was the same tactless alien as ever, but at the same time, there was something about Gabe that really grounded her. A lot of guys saw Alicia and couldn't see past the fit blonde. Gabe only ever seemed to see everything else. He appreciated her quirks, found the same odd things endearing about her as we did, and found her bluntness endlessly entertaining. At the same time, he was so absurdly skilled with words that he could easily keep up with her in an argument and force her to see things from a different perspective. They'd grown pretty close while working on the _Wobbler_ together, and if today was anything to go by, there was quite a future lined up for them.

And then, of course, there was Wood. Bloody Wood. I knew the git was destined to ruin my life one way or another—I just never imagined it'd be because I was so ridiculously, deliriously, embarrassingly in love with him that I would turn into everything I used to make fun of. I sang in the shower now. Cheesy ass love songs. All the time. I smiled at everything—_everything_—because my delirious brain would find a way to trace it back to him. Someone sneezed? Aw, Oliver sneezes! A bird chirps? That's the first thing I hear every morning when I wake up in his arms. It's a nightmare. I'm a nightmare. I would punch me if I met me. But I'm seriously too happy to even care.

Wood, too, had lightened up a shocking amount since we'd started dating. I didn't notice it as much as other people, since I was with him most of the time, but to friends that hadn't seen in a while, it was like meeting a different person. He was brighter, happier, more open—quicker to laugh or joke or partake in something stupid. Don't get me wrong: he was still the OCD old man who color-coded his broom polishes, pre-dated his parchments, and scheduled 6 A.M. Quidditch practices in the middle of a blizzard. He was also still very much married to his game book. It was just that now, every once in a while, I got him to cheat on it with me.

"Hey," he murmured, breaking my out of my reverie, and I glanced up from the crook of his neck to meet his warm, whiskey-colored gaze. "What's going on in that madman brain?"

I smiled—I smile at _fucking everything_—and lifted my hand up to play with a loose string on the neckline of his t-shirt. "I'm just… trying to think of the word for this moment." His brow furrowed, a bit puzzled with the response, and I laughed. "I know, it's lame, but for some reason… I don't know, it's like right now, at this precise instant, everything feels… not _special. _Not…" I shook my head, "not perfect, but…" I dropped my gaze as I searched my brain for the right word.

'Special' and 'perfect' were too shallow to mean anything. They were scripted words, imaginary words, words loaded with so much artificial importance and grandiosity that they could never accurately describe something real.

"Something like content, or right," I said after a moment, brows gathering in thought. "Like everything's just fallen into place. Everyone's right where they're supposed to be. Everything is finally—"

"—settled," he finished, and my eyes immediately flickered back up to his.

"Everything is finally settled," I repeated, and after a moment, broke out into a large, uncontrollable smile. "Exactly."

He smiled back, taking the time out to simply stare at me for a moment, and I knew that he was going to shake his head before he even did it. However, like clockwork, I asked the question that always made me feel like the luckiest girl in the entire sodding world.

"What?"

His eyes crinkled at the corners. "You know what."

And with those three little words, everything fell into place.

Everyone was right where they were supposed to be.

And everything, after years of drama, was finally, _finally_ settled.

**El fin.**

**(Below is mainly geared to said HPFF following that reached out when I left, but can really be applied to anyone who connected with the story in any way/enjoyed it. If you're just like 'eh, it was aight' or 'wtf this story sucks', then you'll probably be confused, but thanks for reading it anyway!) **

Alright, guys. That's it. That's all I got. I tried to fit as much as I possibly could into this epilogue type thing because I really wanted to give you all the closure you deserve. You guys are, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the best freaking readers I could have ever _dreamed_ of asking for and your dedication to finding this story after what happened on HPFF (which I SWEAR I still don't have an explanation for, otherwise I would give it to you!) has utterly blown me away. You guys are the story. Seriously, somewhere along the way I stopped writing it for myself and started writing it for you, and it became 1000x better because of it. I'd anticipate your reactions, think of certain reviewers who tended to like certain things and know that this line was for them, and pour hours of writing into getting a chapter out between thermodynamics and mechanics psets because I didn't want to let you guys down. I appreciate beyond BELIEF all the kind words and messages and encouragement you've all given me, and I want to let you know that it's because of you that I'm actually giving this whole writing shenanigans a shot. I'm actually midway through my work of original fiction right now, and I've set aside any careers related to my engineering degree for a year to give myself a shot at being an author. Some of you know about this, some of you don't, but I want all of you to know that I'm pouring my heart and soul into that, and I think that if you enjoyed Settling the Score, Wyr will hopefully be right up your alley. It's nowhere near as romance-oriented—it falls much more into the fantasy/fiction/coming-of-age genre—but it has the same spunk, the same humor, and the same narrative tone as STS. It's just much broader in what it aims to tackle. Therefore, I know you'd love more STS, but perhaps this won't be such a bad alternative!

Anyway, I should probably stop rambling and just send this out so that you can read it and stop feeling like I abandoned you, but I love you guys. Seriously, I do. I owe you a lot more than I can possibly articulate, and I hope that the inconsistent mess of crazy I've decided to call an epilogue above expresses a fraction of that.

Stay hilarious. Stay wonderful. Stay kickass.

Love from your Friendly Neighborhood Fountain Pen,

Gabi


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